vm 


vmm 


&iraiiAm7 


inwwtg  fff  €alif<ri(ni«* 


■^\ 


PRI N I^IN Q  ,  B|N p I N G  . 

AL.BAMGROW&q? 

'*»  MARKET  *''• 

XAJf  FHAXCISCO. 

Fashionable  STAnoNErv 


JACOB  ABBOTT'S 


YOUIG  CHEISTIAN  SEEIES. 


IN     FOUR     VOLUMES. 


^Tv^ 


I.  THE  YOUNG  CHRISTIAN        < 
11.  THE  CORNER  STONE.  "i? 

III.  THE  WAY  TO  DO  GOOD. 

IV.  HOARYHEAD  AND  M'DONNER. 


VERY  GREATLY  IMPROVED    AND  ENLARGED. 


W$W^  numerous  IBuflrabftigH. 


NEW    YORK: 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

329  &  331   PEARL   STREET, 
FRANKLIN  SQUARE. 

1855. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/cornerstoneOOabborich 


THE 


CORNER    STONE 

BY  JACOB  ABBOTT. 

VERY  GREATLY  IMPROVED  AND  ENLARGED. 


CffiCt!)  numerous  3Enflrabinfl», 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

329     &     331     PEARL     STREET, 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 

1855. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Oflace  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 


The  works  comprised  in  the  Young  Christian  series 
are  the  following : 

I.  The  Young  Christian  ;  or,  a  Familiar  Illustration 
of  the  Principles  of  Christian  Duty. 

II.  The  Corner  Stone  ;  or,  a  Familiar  Illustration  of 
the  Principles  of  Christian  Truth. 

III.  The  Way  to  do  Gtood  ;  or,  the  Christian  Char- 
acter Mature. 

IV.  HoARYHEAD  and  M'Donner  ;  or  the  Eadical  Na- 
ture of  the  Change  in  Spiritual  Regeneration. 

The  Young  Christian,  the  first  volume  of  the  series, 
is  intended  as  a  guide  to  the  young  inquirer  in  first  en- 
tering upon  his  Christian  course.  Like  the  other  vol- 
umes of  the  series,  the  work  is  intended,  not  for  chil- 
dren, nor  exclusively  for  the  young,  but  for  all  who  are 
first  commencing  a  religious  life,  whatever  their  years 
may  be.  Since,  however,  it  proves,  in  fact,  that  such 
beginners  are  seldom  found  among  those  who  have 
passed  beyond  the  early  periods  of  life,  the  author  has 
kept  in  mind  the  wants  and  the  mental  characteristics 


PREFACE. 


of  youth,  rather  than  those  of  maturity,  in  the  form  in 
which  he  has  presented  the  truths  brought  to  view,  and 
in  the  narratives  and  dialogues  with  which  he  has  at- 
tempted to  illustrate  them. 

In  respect  to  the  theology  of  the  work,  it  takes  every 
where  for  granted  that  salvation  for  the  human  soul  is 
to  be  obtained  through  repentance  for  past  sin,  and 
through  faith  and  trust  in  the  merits  and  atonement  of 
our  Lord  and  Savior  Jesus  Christ.  Its  main  design, 
however,  is  to  enforce  the  practice,  and  not  to  discuss 
the  theory,  of  religion.  Its  object  is  simply  to  explain 
and  illustrate  Christian  duty,  exhibiting  this  duty,  how- 
ever, as  based  on  those  great  fundamental  principles  of 
faith  in  which  all  evangelical  Christians  concur. 

The  Corner  Stone,  the  second  volume  of  the  series, 
though  intended  to  explain  and  illustrate  certain  great 
religious  truths,  is  not  a  work  of  technical  theology. 
Its  aim  is  simply  to  present,  in  a  plain  and  very  prac- 
tical manner,  a  view  of  some  of  the  great  fundamental 
truths  of  revealed  religion,  on  which  the  superstructure 
of  Christian  character  necessarily  reposes.  The  char- 
acter and  history  of  Jesus  Christ,  considered  as  the  chief 
Corner  Stone  of  the  Christian  faith,  form  the  main  sub- 
jects of  the  volume ;  and  the  principles  of  faith  which 
are  brought  to  view  are  presented  to  the  reader,  as  they 
are  seen  in  the  Scriptures,  centrmg  in  him. 


PREFACE.  Vll 


The  Way  to  do  Gtood,  the  third  volume  of  the  series, 
is  designed  to  present  a  practical  view  of  a  Ufe  of  Chris- 
tian usefulness,  and  to  exhibit  in  a  very  plain  and  sim- 
ple manner  the  way  in  which  a  sincere  and  honest  fol- 
lower of  Jesus  is  to  honor  his  sacred  profession  and  ad- 
vance his  Master's  cause,  by  his  daily  efforts  to  promote 
the  welfare  and  happiness  of  those  around  him. 

HoARYHEAD  and  M'DoNNER,  the  fourth  and  last  vol- 
ume of  the  series,  consists  of  two  connected  tales,  de- 
signed to  illustrate  the  very  radical  character  of  the 
change  by  which  the  Christian  life  is  begun. 

In  the  treatment  of  the  various  topics  discussed  in 
these  volumes,  the  author  has  made  it  his  aim  to  divest 
the  subject  of  religion  of  its  scholastic  garb,  and  to  pre- 
sent in  all  plainness  and  simplicity,  and  in  a  manner 
adapted  to  the  intellectual  wants  of  common  readers, 
the  great  fundamental  principles  of  truth  and  duty.  It 
is  now  many  years  since  the  volumes  of  this  series  were 
first  issued,  and  during  that  time  they  have  been  pub- 
lished, in  whole  or  in  part,  very  extensively  through- 
out the  Christian  world.  Besides  the  wide  circulation 
which  the  series  has  enjoyed  in  this  country,  numerous 
editions,  more  or  less  complete,  have  been  issued  in  En- 
gland, Scotland,  Ireland,  France,  Germany,  Holland, 
India,  and  at  various  missionary  stations  throughout 


VIU  PREFACE. 


the  globe.  The  extended  approbation  which  the  Chris- 
tian community  have  thus  bestowed  upon  the  plan,  and 
the  increasing  demand  for  copies  of  the  several  volumes, 
have  led  to  the  republication  of  the  series  at  this  time 
in  a  new  and  much  improved  form.  The  works  have 
all  been  carefully  revised  by  the  author  for  this  edition, 
and  they  are  embellished  with  numerous  illustrative 
engravings,  which  it  is  hoped  may  aid  in  making  them 
attractive  for  every  class  of  readers. 
New  York,  February,  1856. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Page 
THE  DEITY, 13 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  MAN  CHRIST  JESUS,         .......        57 

CHAPTER  in. 

HUMAN    DUTY, 75 

CHAPTER  IV. 

HUMAN  NATURE,   .........      102 

CHAPTER  V. 

PUNISHMENT, 130 

CHAPTER  YI. 

PARDON, 161 


X  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Page 
THE   LAST  SUPPER, 194 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   CRUCIFIERS, 232 

CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   PARTING   COMMAND, 273 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE  PARTING  PROMISE, 321 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   CONCLUSION,  ........      367 


ENGRAVINGS. 


Page 

JOSEPH  AND   MARY, 13 

THE    WALK  IN   THE   GARDEN, 28 

SUMMER,              . 34 

WINTER, 36 

SOLITUDE,            .           • 64 

THE   WINTER  NIGHT, *70 

THE   LOST  CAP, 82 

THE   "WALK, .  97 

THE   MOTHER, 106 

THE   PROSPECT, 123 

THE   FORGER, 132 

ALONE, 162 

THE   TEMPTATION,      ...,..••  164 

THE    FALLEN  STUCCO, 164 

THE   HOSPITAL, 1*75 

FAITH, 184 

JERUSALEM, 196 

THE   DIRECTIONS, 219 

THE   PIT, 236 

JUDAS, 247 

THE   PALACE, 263 

CRUCIFT  HIM, .           .           .  264 

BEHOLD   THE   MAN, 266 


XU  ENGRAVINGS. 

Page 

THE   FRIENDS, 288 

THE   WIDOW, 301 

THE   HARMLESS   SERPENT, 306 

THE   WITHERED  HAND, ^  326 

THE    COLLEGE, 330 

THE   INTRUSION, 332 

THE    MEETING, 351 

THE   SEA-SHORE 367 

THE   PLANTING, 374 

THE  SCHOOL-BOY, 878 


THE    CORIEE-STONE 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE     DEITY. 
"The  glory  of  God  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ." 


Address  to  the  reader. 


"  If  any  man  will  do  his  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doc- 
trine ;"  so  said  the  Savior,  and  the  obvious  inference  from  it 
is,  that  we  are  to  act  up  to  the  light  we  have,  before  we  seek 
for  more.  Reader,  are  you  doing  God's  toill  ?  This  book 
is  intended  to  explain  such  of  the  elementary  principles  of 
the  gospel  of  Christ,  as  are  necessary  to  supply  the  most 


14  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Preparation  of  the  heart.  The  caravan.  Night. 

pressing  wants  of  a  human  soul  hungering  and  thirsting  after 
righteousness ;  but  this  Gospel,  the  Bible  assures  us,  can  not 
be  understood,  unless  the  heart  is  ready  to  comply  with  its 
claims.  If  you  have  not  confessed  your  sins  therefore,  and 
asked  forgiveness,  if  you  do  not  habitually  strive  against 
temptation,  seeking  help  from  above,  if  you  do  not  aim  at 
doing  the  will  of  God  in  your  daily  pursuits,  I  earnestly  ad- 
vise you  to  go  to  God  before  you  proceed  farther,  and  implore 
his  forgiveness  for  the  past,  and  in  the  most  solemn  and  em- 
phatic manner,  commit  yourself  to  him  for  the  future. 
Whatever  difficulties  in  your  mind  hang  around  the  subjects 
connected  with  religious  truth,  you  certainly  know  enough  to 
see  that  this  is  a  duty,  and  you  can  not  neglect  or  postpone 
obedience  to  it  without  doing  violence  to  conscience,  and  dis- 
pleasing God.  Do  it,  then,  before  you  proceed  any  farther. 
You  will  then  have  God's  guidance  and  assistance  as  you  go 
on.  You  will  be  preserved  from  error  and  led  into  the  truth. 
Your  heart  being  opened,  the  instruction  which  this  volume 
may  present,  will  enter  into  it,  and  contribute  to  its  improve- 
ment and  happiness.  But  it  will  do  no  good  to  go  on  heap- 
ing up  the  truth  before  the  door  of  your  heart,  so  long  as  the 
door  is  securely  barred  against  its  admission. 

Some  centuries  ago,  a  large,  a  very  large  company  were 
traveling  northwardly  in  early  summer,  through  a  lovely 
country,  whose  hills  and  valleys  were  clothed  with  the  fig- 
tree,  the  olive,  and  the  vine.  They  journeyed  slowly  and 
without  anxiety  or  care,  for  their  route  lay  through  a  quiet 
land,  the  abode  of  peace  and  plenty.  Friends  and  acquaint- 
ances were  mingled  together  in  groups,  as  accident  or  inclina- 
tion might  dictate,  until  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  ap- 
proach of  evening  warned  them  to  make  preparations  for 
rest.  While  the  various  families  were  drawing  off  together 
for  this  purpose,  the  attention  and  the  sympathy  of  the  mul- 


THE    DEITY.  15 


The  lost  child.  An  anxious  search.  Jerusalem  at  eveniag. 

titude  were  excited  by  the  anxious  looks  and  eager  inquiries 
of  a  female,  who  was  passing  from  group  to  group,  with  sor- 
row and  agitation  painted  on  her  countenance.  It  was  a 
mother,  who  could  not  find  her  son.  It  was  her  only  son, 
and  one  to  whom,  from  peculiar  circumstances,  she  was  very 
strongly  attached.  He  had  never  disobeyed  her ; — ^he  had 
never  given  her  unnecessary  trouble,  and  the  uncommon 
maturity  of  his  mental  and  moral  powers  had  probably  led 
her  to  trust  him  much  more  to  himself  than  in  any  other 
case  would  be  justifiable.  He  was  twelve  years  old,  and  she 
supposed  that  he  had  been  safe  in  the  company,  but  now 
night  had  come,  and  she  could  not  find  him.  She  went  anx- 
iously and  sorrowfully  from  family  to  family,  and  from  friend 
to  friend,  inquiring  with  deep  solicitude,  "  Have  you  seen 
my  son  ?" 

He  was  not  to  be  found.  No  one  had  seen  him,  and  the 
anxious  parents  left  their  company,  and  inquiring  carefully 
by  the  way,  went  slowly  back  to  the  city  whence  they  had 
come. 

The  city  was  in  the  midst  of  a  country  of  mountains  and 
valleys.  Dark  groves  crowned  the  sunmiits,  and  richly  culti- 
vated fields  adorned  their  sides.  The  road  meandered  along 
the  glens  and  vales,  sharing  the  passage  with  the  streams 
which  flowed  toward  a  neighboring  sea.  The  city  itself 
spread  its  edifices  over  the  broad  surface  of  a  hill,  one  ex- 
tremity of  which  was  crowned  with  the  spacious  walls  and 
colonnades  of  a  temple,  rising  one  above  another,  the  whole 
pile  beaming  probably  in  the  setting  sun,  as  these  anxious 
parents  approached  it,  in  all  the  dazzling  whiteness  of 
marble  and  splendor  of  gold.  The  parents  however  could 
not  have  thought  much  of  the  scene  before  them.  They  had 
lost  their  son. 

With  what  anxious  and  fruitless  search  they  spent  the 
evening  and  the  following  morning,  we  do  not  know.     They 


16  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  temple.  The  boy  found.  The  question  and  reply. 

at  last  however  ascended  to  the  temple  itself.  They  passed 
from  court  to  court,  now  going  up  the  hroad  flight  of  steps 
which  led  from  one  to  the  other,  now  walking  under  a  lofty 
colonnade,  and  now  traversing  a  paved  and  ornamented  area. 
At  last  in  a  public  part  of  this  edifice,  they  found  a  group 
collected  around  a  hoy,  and  apparently  listening  to  what  he 
was  saying  ;  the  feeling  must  have  heen  mingled  interest, 
curiosity  and  surprise.  It  was  their  son.  His  uncommon 
mental  and  moral  maturity  had  by  some  means  shown  itself 
to  those  around  him,  and  they  were  deeply  interested  in  his 
questions  and  replies. 

His  mother,  for  the  narrative,  true  to  nature  and  to  fact, 
makes  the  mother  the  foremost  parent  in  every  thing  con- 
nected with  the  search  for  their  son,  does  not  reproach  him. 
She  asked  him  why  he  had  stayed  behind,  and  gently  reminded 
him  of  the  sorrow  and  suffering  he  had  caused  them.  He 
gave  them  a  reply  which  she  could  not  fully  understand,  and 
the  feelings  with  which  twelve  years  of  intercourse,  such  as 
no  mother  ever  before  had  with  a  son,  had  inspired  her  for 
him,  forbade  her  pressing  him  for  an  explanation.  "  She 
laid  his  words  up  in  her  hearth 

With  what  a  strange  mixture  of  affection  and  wonder, 
and  ardent  but  respectful  regard,  must  the  mother  of  Jesus 
have  habitually  looked  upon  her  son.  A  boy  who  had  never 
spoken  an  impatient  or  disrespectful  word,  who  had  never 
manifested  an  unkind  or  a  selfish  feeling,  who  had  never  dis- 
obeyed, never  failed  in  his  duty,  but  had,  for  twelve  long 
years,  never  given  father  or  mother  an  unnecessary  step,  or 
a  moment's  uneasiness,  or  neglected  any  thing  which  could 
give  them  pleasure.  My  reader,  are  you  still  under  your 
father's  roof  ?  If  so,  try  the  experiment  of  doing  in  every 
respect  for  a  single  week,  your  duty  to  father  and  mother ; 
fill  your  heart  with  kindness  and  love  to  them,  and  let  your 
words  and  your  actions  be  in  all  respects  controlled  by  these 


THE    DEITY.  17 


Mary's  feelings  toward  her  son.  His  appearance  and  character. 

feelings  ; — ^be  the  disinterested  and  untiring  friend  and  helper 
of  your  Httle  brothers  and  sisters  ; — in  a  word,  do  your  whole 
duty,  in  the  family  of  which  you  form  a  part,  making  filial 
affection  and  respect  the  evident  spring,  and  you  will  fill  a 
mother's  heart  with  gladness  at  the  change.  You  can  then 
a  little  understand  the  deep  tide  of  enjoyment,  which  must 
have  filled  Mary's  heart,  during  the  childhood  of  her  spotless 
son. 

What,  too,  must  have  been  the  progress  of  this  child's 
mind,  in  knowledge  and  wisdom.  A  mind,  never  allured 
away  by  folly,  or  impeded  by  idleness,  or  deranged  by  pas- 
sion. Conceive  of  a  frame  too,  which  no  guilty  indulgence 
of  appetite  or  propensity  had  impaired,  and  a  countenance 
which  was  bright  with  its  expression  of  intelligence  and 
energy,  and  yet  beaming  with  kindness  and  love.  It  was 
the  perfection  of  human  nature,  the  carrying  out  to  its  limit, 
of  all  which  God  originally  intended  in  the  creation  of  man. 
And  why  was  it  so  ?  How  has  it  happened,  that  among  the 
millions  upon  millions  of  children  who  have  by  disobedience, 
ingratitude  and  sin,  planted  thorns  in  the  parental  pillow, 
and  often  thrown  sadness  about  the  circle  in  which  they 
moved,  this  boy  had  been  the  only  spotless  one  ?  How  is  it, 
that  he  alone  had  walked  in  purity, — ^that  he  alone  had 
never  sinned,  never  sought  selfishly  his  own,  never  given  a 
parent  pain,  never  injured  a  playmate,  or  returned  an  impa- 
tient word,  or  struck  a  blow  in  anger,  or  harbored  a  feeling 
of  revenge  ?  He  stands  a  glorious  monument  of  perfect  filial 
virtue,  the  more  glorious  because  it  is  solitary.  No  other 
nation  or  kindred  or  people  or  clime,  ever  furnished  such  a 
case,  or  pretended  to  furnish  one.  It  is  remarkable  that 
among  all  the  endless  fables  and  pretensions  of  ancient  times, 
no  historian  or  mythologist,  no  priest  or  prophet  or  philoso- 
pher, has  ever  pretended  to  have  found  a  spotless  man.  The 
whole  world  withdraws  its  pretensions.     Every  system  of  re- 


18  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

The  Deity.  Survey  of  the  universe. 

ligion,  and  every  school  of  philosophy  stand  back  from  this 
field,  and  leave  Jesus  Christ  alone,  the  solitary  example  of 
perfect  moral  purity,  in  the  midst  of  a  world  lying  in  sin. 
The  motto  of  our  chapter  contains  the  only  explanation. 
The  moral  glory  which  beams  upon  us  in  this  great  example 

is  "  THE  GLORY  OF  GoD  IN  THE  FACE  OF  JeSLS  ChRIST.' 

Almost  all  young  persons  are  lost  and  confounded  in  a  - 
tempting  to  obtain  any  clear  conceptions  of  the  Deity,  or 
rather  I  should  say,  they  are  embarrassed  and  perplexed  by 
many  false  and  absurd  impressions,  which  come  up  with 
them  from  childhood,  and  which  cling  to  them  very  obsti- 
nately in  riper  years.  Let  us  turn  away,  then,  a  short  time 
from  the  history  of  the  child  Jesus,  that  we  may  look  a  little 
into  this  subject.  It  is  not  an  easy  one.  It  will  require  pa- 
tient thought  and  close  attention.  You  ought  to  pause,  from 
time  to  time,  as  you  read  the  following  paragraphs,  to  look 
within  and  around  you,  and  to  send  forth  your  conceptions  far 
away  in  the  regions  into  which  I  shall  attempt  to  guide  them. 
And  above  all,  remember  that  if  ever  you  need  divine  assist- 
ance, it  is  when  you  attempt  to  look  into  the  nature  and 
character  of  that  Power  which  is  the  origin  and  the  support 
of  all  other  existence. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  take  a  survey  of  the  visible  uni- 
verse, that  we  may  see  what  manifestations  of  God  appear  in 
it.  Let  us  imagine  that  we  can  see  with  the  naked  eye  all 
that  the  telescope  can  show  us,  and  then  in  order  that  we 
may  obtain  an  uninterrupted  view,  let  us  leave  this  earth,  and 
ascending  from  its  surface,  take  a  station  where  we  can  look, 
without  obstruction,  upon  all  around.  As  we  rise  above  the 
summits  of  the  loftiest  mountains,  the  bright  and  verdant  re- 
gions of  the  earth  begin  to  grow  dim.  City  after  city,  and 
stream  after  stream  fade  away  from  view,  and  at  length  we 
see  the  whole  earth  itself  rolling  away  on  its  course,  and  re- 
flecting from  its  surface  a  uniform  and  silvery  light.     As  the 


THE   DEITY.  19 


The  sun.  The  moon. 

last  breath  of  its  atmosphere  draws  off  from  us,  it  leaves  us 
in  the  midst  of  universal  night,  with  a  sky  extending  without 
interruption  all  around  us,  and  bringing  out  to  our  view  in 
every  possible  direction,  innumerable  and  interminable  vistas 
of  stars.  They  grow  fainter  i and  fainter  in  the  distance,  till 
they  are  lost  in  measureless  regions,  too  remote  to  be  seen, 
but  which  are  still  as  full  and  as  brilliant  as  those  which  are 
near.  In  one  quarter  of  the  heavens,  we  do  indeed  see 
the  sun,  shining  in  all  its  splendor,  but  as  there  is  now  no 
atmosphere  around  us  to  reflect  its  rays,  they  produce  no 
general  illumination,  and  the  dazzling  splendor  of  his  disk 
beams  out  from  a  dark  nocturnal  sky.  The  stars  beyond 
him,  bright  or  faint,  as  they  are  nearer  or  more  distant, 
send  to  us  their  beams  entirely  unobstructed  by  his  rays. 
We  have  thus  the  whole  visible  universe  open  to  our  view, 
so  far  as  telescopic  vision  will  carry  us  into  its  remoter  re- 
gions.    Let  us  look  at  it  in  detail. 

Do  you  see  yon  moon-like  looking  planet,  gliding  almost 
imperceptibly  toward  us  on  its  way  ?  From  that  portion  of 
its  surface  which  is  turned  toward  the  sun,  it  reflects  to  us  a 
silvery  light,  while  the  rest  of  its  form  is  in  shadow  and  un- 
seen. As  it  approaches  us  it  enlarges  and  swells  until  it  fills 
the  whole  quarter  of  the  sky  whence  it  comes.  Its  illumin- 
ated surface  is  turned  more  and  more  from  us  as  it  passes 
between  us  and  the  sun,  and  as  it  wheels  majestically  by  us, 
we  see,  dimly  indeed,  for  we  look  upon  its  shaded  side,  broadly 
extended  regions  crowded  with  life  and  vegetation.  The 
mighty  mass  however  passes  on ;  a  bright  line  of  light  be- 
gins to  creep  in  upon  its  western  limb.  The  darkened  sur- 
face gradually  fades  from  our  view,  and  we  soon  see  nothing 
but  the  shining  crescent,  which  dwindles  to  a  point,  as  this 
mighty  world  of  life,  covered  with  verdure  and  thronged 
with  population,  wheels  away  and  takes  its  place  among 
the  stars  of  the  evening  sky,  itself  soon  the  faintest  star  of  all. 


20  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Jupiter ;  his  satellites.  Distance.  Exact  regularity. 

In  another  quarter  of  the  heavens,  we  see  a  larger  planet^ 
whose  surface  it  would  take  the  swiftest  human  travelei 
hundreds  of  years  merely  to  explore ;  but  it  beams  mildly 
upon  us  from  its  distant  orbit,  a  little  gilded  ball. 

There  are  four  bright  points  in  the  sky  near  it ;  two  on 
each  side,  so  minute  as  to  be  almost  invisible,  and  yet  shin- 
ing with  a  clear  and  steady  light,  except  when  in  their  reg- 
ular revolution  round  their  parent  orb,  they  disappear  behind 
him,  or  are  lost  in  his  shadow.  The  whole  group,  the  moons 
and  the  mighty  mass  around  which  they  revolve,  sweep  on 
in  their  annual  circuit  with  a  velocity  almost  inconceivable, 
but  in  their  measureless  distance,  their  motion  is  to  us  so 
nearly  imperceptible,  that  we  must  watch  them  days  or 
weeks  to  be  satisfied  that  they  move  at  all. 

Measureless  distance,  did  I  say  ?  No.  The  Creator  of 
this  moving  world  has  framed  an  intellect  which  has  exactly 
surveyed  the  bounds  of  this  mighty  orbit.  The  distance  of 
this  planet  is  measured,  and  its  mighty  mass  is  weighed,  as 
accurately  as  any  distance,  or  any  weight,  can  be  ascertained ; 
and  human  calculation  will  tell  precisely  what  situation,  at 
any  instant,  hundreds  of  years  hence,  the  planet  itself  and 
every  one  of  its  satellites  will  have  assumed.  The  maker  of 
this  machinery  set  it  in  motion  at  least  six  thousand  years 
ago,  and  yet  so  precise,  so  unaltered,  and  unalterable  is  the 
regularity  with  which  it  goes  on,  that  its  revolutions  constitute 
now  the  very  standard  of  exactness  among  men.  By  these 
revolutions,  an  observer  in  the  remotest  lands  finds  what  is 
the  exact  time  at  his  distant  home,  and  learns  the  very  dis- 
tance which  separates  him  from  it.  Jupiter  and  his  satellites 
constitute  in  fact  an  illuminated  clock,  which  God  has  placed 
in  the  heavens,  and  whose  motions  he  regulates  so  as  to  make 
it  an  unerring  guide  to  man. 

Turn  now  to  another  quarter,  and  you  see  far,  far  beyond 
all  that  we  have  yet  observed,  a  brilliant  star,  the  brightest 


THE    DEITY.  21 


Sirius.  The  panorama  of  the  universe.  Childish  illusion. 

among  all  the  constellations  around.  It  is  Sirius ;  the  fixed 
unaltered  Sirius.  He  has  been  watched  for  ages,  and  gazed 
upon  by  ten  thousand  eyes,  but  no  one  has  discovered  in  him 
the  slightest  motion  or  change.  He  keeps  his  precise  place 
among  the  feebler  companions  around  him.  His  luster  never 
waxes  nor  wanes.  No  telescope  will  enlarge  or  alter  him, 
or  bring  him  nearer,  and  from  two  stations  a  hundred  and 
ninety  millions  of  miles  apart,  he  appears  in  the  same  place, 
and  shines  with  the  same  brightness,  and  his  unalterable 
beam  comes  apparently  from  the  same  direction. 

But  inconceivably  remote  as  this  star  is  from  us,  we  can 
see  far,  very  far  beyond  him.  The  eye  penetrates  between 
him  and  those  around,  away  into  boundless  regions,  where 
the  vista  stretches  on  from  star  to  star,  and  from  cluster  to 
cluster,  in  endless  perspective.  The  faint  nebula  is  perhaps 
the  most  remote  of  all,  whose  dim  and  delicately-penciled 
light,  in  the  very  remotest  sky,  is,  every  ray  of  it,  the  con- 
centrated effulgence  of  a  blazing  sun,  so  inconceivably  dis- 
tant however,  that  the  united  power  of  all  can  produce  only 
the  vision  of  a  little  faint  cloud,  apparently  just  ready  to  melt 
away  and  disappear. 

Such  is  the  scene  as  it  would  present  itself  to  an  observer, 
who  could  escape  for  an  hour  from  the  obstructions  to  the 
view  at  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  from  the  dimness  and 
the  reflections  of  our  atmosphere.  Our  globe  itself  cuts  off 
one  half  of  the  visible  universe  at  all  times,  and  the  air 
spreads  over  us  a  deep  canopy  of  blue,  which,  during  the 
day,  shuts  out  entirely  the  other  half  But  were  the  field 
open,  we  should  see  in  every  direction  the  endless  perspective 
of  suns  and  stars  as  I  have  described  them.  And  this,  too, 
all  around  us, — above  and  below,  to  the  east  and  to  the 
west,  to  the  north  and  to  the  south.  The  conception  of 
childhood, — and  it  is  one^  which  clings  to  us  in  maturer 
years, — ^that  above  the  blue  sky  there  is  a  heaven  concealed, 


22  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


No  visible  Deity. 


where  the  Deity  sits  enthroned,  is  a  delusive  one.  God  is 
everywhere.  He  has  formed  these  worlds,  these  countless 
suns,  and  where  we  see  his  works,  there  we  see  his  presence 
and  agency.  But  the  beautiful  canopy  above  us  does  not 
conceal  from  us  a  material  heaven  beyond.  The  Deity  is 
the  ALL-PERVADING  POWER,  which  lives  and  acts  throughout 
the  whole.  He  is  not  a  separate  existence  having  a  special 
habitation  in  a  part  of  it.  If  we  look  in  every  direction 
through  this  magnificent  scene,  we  behold  proofs  of  the 
active  presence  of  the  Deity  in  it  all,  but  there  is  no  mate- 
rial temple,  no  throne,  no  monarch  with  visible  tokens  of 
majesty.  In  fact  if  there  was  any  quarter  of  the  universe 
more  magnificent  than  the  rest,  with  a  visible  potentate 
seated  there  wielding  his  scepter,  that  visible  potentate 
would  not,  could  not  he  God.  It  must  be  a  creation,  not 
the  universal,  uncaused  Creator.  It  might  be  a  manifestation 
of  the  supreme  power,  but  it  would  not  be,  and  could  not  be 
that  power  itself,  which  from  its  very  nature  is  universal  in 
its  presence,  and  which  consequently  no  limits  and  no  place 
can  confine. 

It  will  be  observed  by  the  reader,  that  I  am  speaking  here 
of  a  heaven  considered  as  the  seat  of  government  occupied 
by  a  visible  Deity  on  a  throne.  That  the  future  residence 
of  the  happy,  will  be  a  definite  place,  where  extraordinary 
tokens  of  God's  presence,  and  extraordinary  manifestations 
of  his  power  and  glory  will  be  seen,  is  highly  probable. 
I  am  speaking  only  of  conceptions  which  make  the  Deity 
himself  corporeal,  not  spiritual,  and  assign  him  a  special 
place,  instead  of  regarding  him  as  the  great  invisible  spirit, 
every  part  of  the  wide  imiverse  being  equally  his  home. 

Banish  then,  for  this  is  the  object  to  which  I  have  been  in 
these  paragraphs  aiming,  all  material  ideas  of  a  Deity,  and  do 
not  let  your  imagination  struggle  to  find  its  way  upward  to 
some  material  heaven,  with  indefinite  and  idle  conceptions 


THE    DEITY.  23 


The  spirit ;  seen  only  in  his  works.  Various  manifestations. 

of  a  monarch  seated  on  a  throne.  The  striking  and  beauti- 
ful metaphors  of  the  Bible  never  were  intended  to  give  us 
this  idea.  God  is  a  Spirit,  it  says  in  its  most  emphatic  tone. 
A  spirit;  that  is,  he  has  no  form,  no  place,  no  throne. 
Where  he  acts,  there  only  can  we  see  him.  He  is  the  wide- 
spread omnipresent  ^ot^er,  which  is  everywhere  employed, — 
but  which  we  can  neither  see,  nor  know,  except  so  far  as  he 
shall  manifest  himself  by  his  doings. 

If  we  thus  succeed  in  obtaining  just  conceptions  of  the 
Deity  as  the  invisible  and  universal  poweVy  pervading  all 
space,  and  existing  in  all  time,  we  shall  at  once  perceive 
that  the  only  way  by  which  he  can  make  himself  known 
to  his  creatures,  is  by  acting  himself  out,  as  it  were,  in  his 
works ;  and  of  course  the  nature  of  the  manifestation  which 
is  made  will  depend  upon  the  nature  of  the  works.  In  the 
structure  of  a  solar  system,  with  its  blazing  center  and  re- 
volving worlds,  the  Deity,  invisible  itself,  acts  out  its  mighty 
power,  and  the  unerring  perfection  of  its  intellectual  skill. 
At  the  same  time,  while  it  is  carrying  on  these  mighty  move- 
ments, it  is  exercising  in  a  very  different  scene,  an  untiring 
industry,  and  unrivaled  taste,  in  clothing  a  mighty  forest 
with  verdure,  bringing  out  in  beauty  its  millions  of  opening 
buds,  and  painting,  by  slow  and  cautious  steps,  the  petal  of 
every  flower,  and  every  insect's  wing.  And  so  everywhere 
this  unseen  and  universal  Essence,  acts  out  its  various  attri- 
butes, by  its  different  works.  We  can  learn  its  nature  only 
by  the  character  of  the  effects  which  spring  from  it. 

But  I  hear  my  reader  say,  "  I  can  not  dispel  the  idea  that 
there  is  above  me,  somewhere  in  the  lofty  sky,  the  peculiar 
residence  of  Jehovah,  from  which  he  puts  forth,  as  it  were, 
his  arm,  and  produces  all  these  effects  in  the  more  distant 
regions  of  his  creation  ;  and  I  can  not  but  hope  that  one  day 
I  shall  see  him  there." 

Now  doubtless  you  may  reasonably  hope  to  enjoy  at  some 


24  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Unworthy  conceptions  of  God. 


future  day  spiritual  realizations  of  the  existence  and  power 
and  presence  of  the  Deity,  far  more  intimate  and  vivid  than 
you  now  even  conceive  of :  but  these  realizations  can  not  be 
by  means  of  any  thing  like  bodily  vision.  Nothing  can  be 
seen  by  the  eye  but  form  and  color,  and  form  and  color  are 
not  attributes  of  God.  We  must  dispel  all  such  unworthy 
conceptions  of  the  supreme.  Go  out  in  the  evening,  and 
gaze  up  into  the  clear  sky,  till  you  realize  that  you  can  see 
away  into  those  distant  regions,  far  beyond  the  sphere  which 
your  childish  imagination  has  assigned  as  the  residence  of 
God.  Then  reflect  that  the  whole  scene  which  you  thus 
gaze  into,  will,  in  a  few  hours,  be  beneath  your  feet.  Try 
to  dispel  the  illusion,  and  thoroughly  fix  in  your  mind,  so 
that  it  shall  never  leave  you,  the  conception  that  the  Deity 
is  the  all-pervading,  universal  and  invisible  power.  He  is 
below,  as  much  as  he  is  above ;  for  if  we  could  perforate 
the  earth,  and  look  through  to  what  is  beneath  our  feet,  we 
should  find  there  as  many  worlds,  as  many  blazing  suns  and 
shining  stars,  and  as  endless  perspectives  of  brightness  and 
beauty,  all  marking  the  presence  and  the  agency  of  God,  as 
we  ever  see  above. 

This  universal  essence,  then,  must  display  to  us  its  nature, 
by  acting  itself  out  in  a  thousand  places,  by  such  manifesta- 
tions of  itself,  as  it  wishes  us  to  understand.  Does  God  de- 
sire to  impress  us  with  the  idea  of  his  power  ?  He  darts 
the  lightning  from  cloud  to  cloud, — or  rolls  the  thunder, — 
or  shakes  continents  by  his  unseen  hand.  Does  he  wish  to 
beam  upon  us  in  love  ?  What  can  be  more  expressive  than 
the  sweet  summer  sunset,  and  the  thousand  nameless  tints 
and  hues  which  give  its  expression  of  peace  and  happiness 
to  the  landscape,  and  air,  and  sky  of  evening.  How  can  he 
make  us  acquainted  with  his  benevolence  and  skill  ?  Why 
by  acting  them  out  in  some  mechanism  which  exhibits  them. 
He  may  construct  an  eye,  or  a  hand  for  man,  filling  them 


THE    DEITY.  26 


Exhibitions  of  power ;  love ;  benevolence ;  skill. 


with  ingenious  contrivances  for  our  benefit,  so  numerous, 
that  the  very  being  who  uses  them  may  be  centuries  in 
exploring  their  mysterious  wonders  and  yet  not  learn  them 
all.  How  can  he  give  us  some  conception  of  his  intellectual 
powers  ?  He  can  plan  the  motions  of  planets,  and  so  exactly 
balance  their  opposing  forces,  that  thousands  of  years  shall 
not  accumulate  the  slightest  error,  or  disturb  the  unchanging 
precision  of  their  way.  But  the  great  question,  after  all,  is 
to  come.  It  is  the  one  to  which  we  have  meant  that  all 
which  we  have  been  saying  should  ultimately  tend.  How 
can  such  a  being  exhibit  the  moral  principle  by  which  his 
mighty  energies  are  all  controled  ? 

He  is  an  unseen,  universal  power,  utterly  invisible  to  us, 
and  imperceptible,  except  so  far  as  he  shall  act  out  his 
attributes  in  what  he  does.  How  shall  he  act  out  moral 
principle  ?  It  is  easy  by  his  material  creations,  to  make  any 
impression  upon  us,  which  material  objects  can  make  ;  but 
how  shall  he  exhibit  to  us  the  moral  beauty  of  justice,  and 
benevolence,  and  mercy  between  man  and  man  ?  How  shall 
he  exhibit  to  us  clearly  his  desire  that  sorrow  and  suffering 
on  earth  should  be  mitigated,  and  injuries  forgiven,  and  uni- 
versal peace  and  good-will  reign  among  the  members  of  this 
great  family  ?  Can  he  do  this  by  the  thunder,  the  lightning 
or  the  earthquake  ?  Can  he  do  it  by  the  loveliness  of  the 
evening  landscape,  or  the  magnificence  and  splendor  of  the 
countless  suns  and  stars  ?  No.  He  might  declare  his  moral 
attributes  as  he  might  have  declared  his  power ;  but  if  he 
would  bring  home  to  us  the  one,  as  vividly  and  distinctly  as 
the  other,  he  must  act  out  his  moral  principles,  by  a  moral 
manifestation,  in  a  moral  scene  ;  and  the  great  beauty  of 
Christianity  is,  that  it  represents  him  as  doing  so.  He  brings 
out  the  purity,  and  spotlessness,  and  moral  glory  of  the 
Divinity,  through  the  workings  of  a  human  mind,  called  into 
existence  for  this  purpose,  and  stationed  in  a  most  conspicuous 

B 


26  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Moral  character  displayed  in  Christ  Jesus.  Studying  God's  character. 

attitude  among  men.  In  the  movements  of  a  planet  we  see 
the  energy  of  the  Deity  in  constant  occupation,  showing  us 
such  powers  and  principles  as  majestic  motion  can  show; 
and  in  the  moral  movements  of  a  mind,  in  which  the  energies 
of  a  Deity  equally  mingle,  and  which  they  equally  guide,  we 
have  the  far  more  important  manifestation  which  the  move- 
ments of  thought  and  feeling  can  show.  Without  some 
direct  manifestation  of  the  Deity  in  the  spiritual  world,  the 
display  of  his  character  would  be  fatally  incomplete,  and  it 
is  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  more  than  harmony  which 
exists  between  nature  and  revelation,  that  the  latter  does  thus, 
in  precise  analogy,  exactly  complete  what  the  former  had 
begun.  Thus  the  moral  perfections  of  the  divinity  show 
themselves  to  us  in  the  only  way  by  which,  so  far  as  we  can 
see,  it  is  possible  directly  to  show  them,  by  coming  out  in 
action,  in  the  very  field  of  human  duty,  through  a  mysterious 
union  with  a  human  intellect  and  human  powers.  It  is 
God  manifest  in  the  flesh  ;  the  visible  moral  image  of  an 
all-pervading  moral  Deity,  himself  forever  invisible. 

My  object  in  this  chapter,  thus  far,  has  been  to  show  my 
readers,  in  what  way,  and  on  what  principles  they  are  to 
study  the  character  of  God.  The  substance  of  the  view, 
which  I  have  been  wishing  to  impress  upon  your  minds,  is, 
that  we  are  to  expect  to  see  him  solely  through  the  mani- 
festations which  he  makes  of  himself  in  his  works.  We  have 
seen  in  what  way  some  of  the  traits  of  his  character  are  dis- 
played in  the  visible  creation,  and  how  at  last  he  determined 
to  manifest  his  moral  character,  by  bringing  it  into  action 
through  the  medium  of  a  human  soul.  The  plan  was  carried 
into  effect,  and  the  mysterious  person  thus  formed  appears  for 
the  first  time  to  our  view,  in  the  extraordinary  boy  whom  we 
left  sitting  in  the  temple,  an  object  of  wonder,  which  must  have 
been  almost  boundless,  since  the  power  which  was  manifest- 


THE    DEITY.  27 


His  works  examined.  An  experiment. 

ing  itself  in  him  was  unknown.  We  have  now  in  the  suc- 
ceeding chapters  of  this  book,  to  follow  the  circumstances 
and  events  of  his  remarkable  history. 

Before  we  proceed,  however,  we  have  a  few  things  of 
a  practical  character  to  say,  which  are  suggested  by  this 
subject. 

1.  A  young  Christian  may  derive  great  advantage,  and 
enjoy  much  pleasure  in  studying  the  character  of  God  on  the 
principles  of  this  chapter.  I  do  not  mean  by  reading  books 
on  the  subject,  but  by  making  your  own  observations  and 
reflections  upon  the  scene  and  the  objects  around  you. 
There  are  certain  highly  wrought  contrivances,  such  as  the 
eye,  and  the  hand,  which  were  long  since  exhibited  as  proofs 
of  divine  wisdom,  and  they  have  been  so  exclusively  dwelt 
upon  by  writers  since,  as  almost  to  produce  the  impression 
upon  those  who  read  passively,  that  these  are  all,  or  certainly 
the  chief  indications  of  divine  wisdom.  Whereas  you  can 
not  take  a  walk,  or  sit  at  an  open  window,  without  finding 
innumerable  examples  as  unequivocal  as  these. 

A  young  lady  of  active  mind,  who  was  out  of  health,  and 
forbidden  by  her  physician  to  read  or  study,  and  who  com- 
plained that  she  did  not  know  how  to  employ  her  thoughts, 
was  advised  by  a  friend  to  take  a  walk,  and  see  how  many 
proofs  of  divine  contrivance  she  could  find.  Such  an  experi- 
ment, I  would  advise  all  my  readers  to  try.  With  a  very  little 
ingenuity,  they  will  succeed  much  better  than  they  would 
imagine.  Should  any  make  the  attempt,  and  reduce  to 
writing  the  result  of  the  observations  made,  the  report  might 
be  perhaps  somewhat  as  follows  : 

"  From  the  yard  of  my  father's  house  I  passed  through  a 
gate  into  the  garden,  intending  to  cross  it  and  seek  for  my 
proofs  of  design,  in  the  fields  and  wood  beyond.  As  I  passed 
along  the  walk,  however,  I  observed  several  apples  lying  on 


28 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  ripe  apple's  stem. 


the  ground,  under  a  tree.     I  took  up  one  and  found  that  it 
was  ripe. 


THE    WALK   IN   THE    GARDEN 


"  I  began  to  consider  whether  there  was  not  design  in  the 
smooth  tight  skin  by  which  the  apple  was  covered,  protect- 
ing it  so  fully  from  the  rain ;  and  thought  that  next  spring, 
when  the  apples  were  about  half  formed,  I  would  carefully 
pare  one  while  it  was  on  the  tree,  and  then  leave  it,  to  see 
what  effect  the  loss  of  its  skin  would  have  on  its  future  growth. 

"  None  but  the  ripe  apples  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  It 
seems  then  that  when  the  fruit  has  come  to  its  maturity,  it 
is  so  contrived  as  to  let  go  its  hold,  and  fall.  There  appears 
to  be  no  natural  connection  between  the  maturity  of  the  fruit 
and  the  weakness  of  the  stem  precisely  at  its  junction  with 
the  tree,  particularly  as  the  rest  of  the  stem  continues  strong 
and  sound  as  before. 


THE    DEITY.  29 


Juices.  Cells.  The  vine  and  its  tendrils.  Contraction. 

*'  I  mellowed  one  of  the  apples,  as  the  boys  term  it,  by- 
striking  it  rapidly  against  a  smooth  post,  without  however 
breaking  the  skin.  Before,  though  it  was  not  very  hard,  it 
was  firm  to  the  touch,  but  now  it  was  soft  and  yielding. 
What  change  had  I  made  in  its  interior  ?  A  ball  of  wood 
could  not  be  thus  softened  by  blows.  I  cut  it  open.  The 
juice  flowed  out  profusely.  If  I  had  cut  it  open  just  as  it 
came  from  the  tree,  not  a  drop  would  have  fallen  to  the 
ground.  I  concluded  that  the  sweet  liquid  had  been  care- 
fully put  up  in  little  cells,  which  composed  the  substance  of 
the  fruit,  and  which  had  safely  retained  it  until  my  blows 
had  broken  them  all  away,  so  as  to  mingle  their  contents  into 
one  mass.  I  thought  how  busily  the  power  of  God  was  em- 
ployed every  summer's  day,  in  ten  thousand  orchards,  carrying 
these  juices  into  every  tree,  apportioning  its  proper  share  to 
every  apple,  and  conveying  each  particle  to  its  own  minute, 
invisible  cell. 

"  Just  then  I  saw  before  me,  at  a  little  distance,  a  cucum- 
ber vine,  which  had  spread  itself  over  the  ground,  and  was 
clinging  to  every  little  sprig  and  pebble  which  came  in  its  way. 
*  How  can  its  little  tendrils  find  what  they  wish  to  clasp  ?* 
thought  I,  as  I  stooped  down  to  look  at  them.  I  observed 
that  the.  tendrils  which  did  not  come  into  contact  with  any 
thing,  were  nearly  or  quite  straight,  though  some  of  them  had 
grown  out  to  a  considerable  length.  Every  one  however 
which  touched  any  object,  had  curled  toward  it,  and  some 
had  wound  themselves  round  so  many  times,  that  they  would 
break  rather  than  relax  their  hold.  How  delicate  must  be 
the  mechanism  of  fibers,  so  contrived  that  by  the  mere 
invitation  of  a  touch,  they  should  curl  and  grasp  the  object 
which  is  presented. 

"  While  looking  at  this,  and  observing  that  the  origin  of 
the  tendril  in  the  stem  of  the  vine,  was  always  at  the  ex- 
act place  where  a  support  would  be  most  effectual,  I  no- 


30  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  dew-drop.  Its  supports.  Highly  finished  work. 

ticed  a  small  bright  drop,  which  assumed,  as  I  slightly 
changed  my  position,  bright  hues  of  orange,  green,  blue,  and 
violet.  It  was  a  drop  of  dew,  which  lay  in  a  little  inden- 
tation of  the  leaf.  I  was  admiring  the  admirable  exactness 
of  its  form,  and  the  brilliancy  of  its  polished  surface,  and 
wondering  at  the  laws  of  cohesion  and  of  light,  which  could 
thus  retain  every  particle  in  its  precise  position,  and  produce 
images  so  perfect,  and  yet  so  minute,  as  I  saw  reflected  there, 
— ^when  I  accidentally  touched  the  leaf,  and  the  little  world 
of  wonders  rolled  away.  The  charm  was  broken  at  once  ; 
it  vanished  upon  the  wet  ground  as  if  it  had  not  been.  The 
spot  upon  the  leaf,  where  it  had  been  lying  for  hours,  was 
dry.  Thousands  of  downy  fibers,  which  God  had  fash- 
ioned there,  had  held  it  up,  and  similar  fibers  in  countless 
numbers  clothed  every  leaf,  and  every  stem,  and  every  ten- 
dril of  the  whole.  I  looked  over  the  garden,  and  was  lost  in 
attempting  to  conceive  of  the  immense  number  of  these  deli- 
cately fashioned  fibers,  which  the  all-pervading  Deity  had 
been  slowly  constructing  there,  during  the  months  that  had 
just  gone  by.  And  when  I  reflected  that  not  only  that  gar- 
den, but  the  gardens  and  fields  of  all  around  me, — the 
verdure  of  the  whole  continent, — of  the  whole  earth, — of 
unnumbered  worlds  besides,  was  all  as  exquisitely  finished 
as  this,  the  mind  shrunk  back  from  the  vain  effort  to  follow 
out  the  reflection." 

But  enough.  Such  a  narrative  might  be  continued  indefi- 
nitely, and  the  young  Christian  who  will  actually  go  forth 
to  study  God's  character  in  garden  and  forest,  and  field,  will 
find  no  end  to  his  discoveries.  And  the  very  substances 
which  are  most  common,  and  which  he  has  been  accustomed 
to  look  upon  with  the  slightest  interest,  he  will  find  teeming 
with  the  most  abundant  proofs  of  the  Creator's  benevolence 
and  skill,  and  of  the  boundless  resources  of  his  power.     Take, 


THE    DEITY.  31 


Water.  The  fleecy  cloud.  Snow-storms  and  snow-flakes. 

for  instance,  water,  which,  as  it  hes  before  us  in  a  bowl,  ap- 
pears as  simple,  and  as  little  mechanical  in  its  structure, 
as  any  thing  can  possibly  be  ;  and  yet  weeks  would  not  be 
sufficient  to  describe  its  wonders.  See  it  now  gliding  in  a 
smooth  and  gentle  current,  on  its  course,  over  golden  sands, 
enchaining  us  for  hours  upon  its  banks,  to  gaze  upon  its  rip- 
pling surface,  and  into  its  clear  depths, — and  now  rolling  in 
the  billows  of  the  ocean,  which  toss,  with  terrific  power,  the 
proudest  structures  that  men  can  frame,  as  easily  as  they  do 
the  floating  sea-weed.  Again,  it  assumes  an  invisible  form, 
and  the  same  particles,  under  a  difierent  law,  float  imper- 
ceptible in  the  atmosphere,  or  by  their  almost  resistless  re- 
pulsion, work  the  mightiest  engines  which  man  can  construct. 
The  Protean  substance  again  appears  to  us  in  the  form  of 
a  light  fleecy  cloud,  sailing  in  the  clear  blue  sky.  And  what 
is  a  cloud  ?  It  presents  only  a  surface  of  whiteness  to  the 
eye :  but  it  is  composed  of  countless  drops,  turned  to  their 
true  spherical  form  with  mathematical  precision,  and  gently 
descending  through  the  air,  as  fast  as  their  superior  weight 
can  find  its  way.  Every  fleecy  cloud  is  in  fact  a  shower,  with 
drops  smaller  indeed  than  those  of  rain,  and  descending  more 
slowly,  and  consumed  by  the  warm  air  below  them,  before 
they  reach  the  earth.  If  we  could  see  the  gradual  forma- 
tion and  dissipation  of  such  a  drop,  as  particle  after  particle 
comes  to  increase  it,  or  flies  away,  we  should  see  the  opera- 
tion of  the  Deity ;  and  when  we  think  how  many  clouds  and 
storms  sweep  over  the  sky,  every  minute  globule  of  which 
must  be  formed  under  the  hand  of  God,  we  shall  see  how 
boundlessly  multiplied  are  the  operations  of  his  hands. 

But  the  half  is  not  yet  told.  Come  out  in  the  snow-storm, 
and  after  surveying  the  vast  extent  of  country  buried  in  its 
wintry  covering,  look  up  into  the  sky,  and  estimate,  if  you 
can,  the  millions  of  descending  flakes.  Every  one  of  these 
flakes,  countless  as  they  are,  is  formed  and  fashioned  after  its 


32  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Perfect  workmanship.  The  bubble.  Its  structure. 

proper  model.  It  is  crystalized  in  a  precise  form,  every  par- 
ticle takes  it  precise  place,  every  point  of  the  beautiful  star 
has  its  proper  acuteness,  and  although  in  an  hour  a  southern 
rain  is  to  melt  and  destroy  them  all,  still  not  one  is  neglected, 
not  one  is  slighted,  but  every  individual  flake  of  all  the  mil- 
lions, is  fashioned  with  as  much  exactness  and  care  as  if  it 
was  expressly  intended  for  the  examination  of  the  chemist  or 
philosopher.  Now  think  of  the  vast  fields  of  snow  which 
whiten  the  arctic  regions, — think  of  the  eternal  storms  which 
sweep  the  polar  skies,  and  which  follow  the  retreating  sun 
every  season,  far  down  toward  his  own  peculiar  climes,  and 
conceive,  if  you  can,  the  extent  of  the  work,  which  the  all- 
pervading  Deity  has  continually  to  do. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  forms  which  this  simple  substance, 
water,  assumes,  in  the  changes  through  which  the  Deity 
carries  it.  I  will  mention  one  more,  because  it  illustrates 
peculiarly  the  idea  that  the  most  common  objects  are  the 
m.ost  extraordinary,  if  we  really  look  at  them  with  an  ob- 
serving eye.  It  is  the  bubble ;  one  of  the  most  surprising 
things  in  nature,  and  yet  one  at  which  nobody  ever  thinks  of 
being  surprised. 

In  order  that  we  may  examine  it  more  conveniently,  let  us 
imagine  it  to  be  enlarged,  for  it  is  plain  that  its  character 
does  not  depend  at  all  upon  its  size.  Imagine  it  then  to  be 
enlarged ;  suppose  one,  twenty  feet  in  height,  were  to  stand 
before  you.  What  a  magnificent  dome  !  Pure,  transparent, 
glistening  in  the  sun,  and  irised  by  a  thousand  hues,  which 
float,  and  wave,  and  spread  in  graceful  and  ceaseless  motion 
on  its  surface  !  And  yet  this  dome  is  built,  by  its  architect, 
of  what  ?  Of  marble  blocks,  fitted  into  one  another  with  the 
care  which  man  must  exercise  to  construct  his  arch  or  dome  ? 
Of  iron  bars  to  strengthen  the  sides  and  sustain  the  summit  ? 
No  ;  but  of  fluid  particles,  which  glide  and  swim  among 
each  other,  as  if  they  had  no  connection  whatever.     They 


THE    DEITY.  33 


Ita  wonderful  mechanism.  Intellectual  and  moral  exhibitiona. 

are  bound  together,  firmly  and  exactly  balanced,  and  yet 
with  such  admirable  skill,  that  every  one  is  free  to  float  and 
move  where  it  will.  The  edifice  is  so  strong,  that  if  a  heavy- 
body  falls  upon  it,  it  either  glides  down  its  side,  or  cleaves  its 
summit ;  and  the  magic  structure  safely  withstands  the  shock. 
It  regains  in  an  instant  its  form,  as  true,  as  symmetrical  and 
as  perfect  as  before  ;  and  yet,  stable  as  it  thus  is,  every  stone 
in  the  edifice  is  in  motion,  and  glides  gracefully,  and  at  per- 
fect liberty,  among  the  rest.  It  is  indeed  a  wonder.  The 
laws  of  reflection  and  cohesion  and  equilibrium,  which  every 
bubble  brings  into  play,  it  would  require  a  volume  to  eluci- 
date, and  yet  the  mighty  operator,  seeming  to  find  pleasure 
in  endless  occupation,  dashes  them  out  in  the  utmost  perfec- 
tion, under  every  water-fdl ;  by  means  of  them  he  surmounts 
every  one  of  the  countless  waves  of  ocean  with  its  snowy 
crest,  and  whitens  a  hundred  thousand  miles  of  sandy  beach 
and  rocky  shore,  with  a  perpetual  fringe  of  foam. 

But  after  all,  innumerable  and  wonderful  as  are  these 
works  of  the  Deity,  these  modes  of  acting  out  his  attributes, 
there  are  far  more  interesting  manifestations  of  his  character. 
For,  exciting  and  animating  as  are  such  glimpses  as  these 
of  the  workings  of  the  Almighty,  it  is  only  such  attributes  as 
skill,  power,  taste,  invention,  which  are  brought  into  view 
by  them.  They  are  most  striking  exhibitions  it  is  true,  but 
they  are  exhibitions  of  cold  intellect  only,  after  all.  The 
splendor  of  the  evening  sky,  the  sublimity  of  a  tempest,  the 
exquisite  delicacy  of  structure  which  we  see  in  microscopic 
plants  and  animals,  affect  us  strongly,  but  it  is  little  more 
than  a  philosophical  interest  in  a  power  and  a  skill,  so  in- 
finitely varied  in  its  designs,  and  so  admirable  in  its  execu- 
tion. 

But  you  can  go  much  farther  than  this ;  you  can  examine 
even  in  nature,  the  moral  exhibitions  of  God's  character,  and 
as  we  pass  from   these  examples  of  mere  mechanism,   to 


34 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


An  imaginary  walk  in  June. 


God  ia  love. 


those  which  exhibit  to  us  the  moral  feelings  of  the  being 
who  performs  these  works,  our  hearts  are  touched.  I  will 
take,  to  illustrate  this,  one  of  the  lowest  examples  of  what  I 
mean. 

It  is  June.  We 
walk  out  in  some  re- 
tired and  uninhabited 
region,  in  the  midst 
of  the  forests,  and  find 
all  nature  thronged 
with  active  and  happy 
life.  Insects  unnum- 
bered sport  in  the  sun, 
or  skip  upon  the  bright 
surface  of  the  lake. 
Nimble  animals  chase 
one  another  upon  the 
branches  of  the  trees, 
or  hide  in  hollow 
SUMMER.  trunks,  or  gather  nuts 

and  fruits  which  fall 
around  them,  in  inexhaustible  profusion.  And  what  is  all 
this  for  ?  Perhaps  for  hundreds  of  miles  around,  there  is  not 
a  human  habitation  ;  no  human  eye  will  witness  this  scene, 
and  no  human  want  will  be  supplied  by  any  thing  that  it 
produces.  What  is  it  for  ?  What  motive  induces  these 
efforts  ?  Why,  it  is  because  this  mighty  architect  whose 
power  is  so  great,  and  whose  field  is  so  boundless,  loves  to 
exercise  that  power  in  every  corner  of  that  wide-spread  field, 
for  the  purpose  of  producing  enjoyment.  No  person  can  look 
on  such  a  scene,  with  any  thing  like  proper  views  of  it,  with- 
out feeling  a  glow  of  new  interest  and  warmer  attachment 
toward  its  mighty  Author.  The  mere  proofs  of  power  and 
contrivance  and  skill,  in  the  specimens  of  mechanism  which 


THE    DEITY.  35 


The  robin  and  his  nest.  God's  care  of  him. 

have  been  noticed,  awaken  strong  intellectual  interest ; — but 
it  touches  the  heart,  and  awakens  a  deeper  and  warmer  emo- 
tion there,  when  we  see  this  architect,  while  actually  carry- 
ing on  the  mighty  mechanism  of  the  heavens,  still  busily  en- 
gaged in  this  secluded  valley,  filling  thousands  and  millions 
of  his  creatures  with  enjoyment,  as  if  taking  pleasure  in  wit- 
nessing the  frolics  of  an  insect ;  and  drawing  so  copiously 
upon  his  stores  of  skill  and  power,  to  make  a  squirrel  or  a 
robin  happy. 

The  robin  ;  just  look  for  a  moment  at  his  nest  in  the  midst 
of  this  valley  of  peace.  It  is  fixed  securely  in  a  cluster  of 
branches,  sheltered  just  enough  by  the  foliage  around,  and  in 
it  are  three  or  four  tender,  helpless,  unfledged  birds  lying  to- 
gether. The  open  air  and  the  broad  sky  is  over  their  heads  ; 
nothing  but  the  hanging  leaf  protects  them  from  an  enemy. 
They  have  no  power  to  fly,  no  power  to  resist ;  hunger  is 
coming  on  and  they  can  not  provide  food  ;  but  they  lie  alone 
and  helpless  and  weak,  the  very  picture  of  defenselessness 
and  exposure. 

But  they  are  safe  and  happy.  God  makes  them  his  care. 
They  can  not  bear  cold  ;  God  has  guarded  them  against  it, 
by  so  poising  the  ponderous  earth,  and  so  carefully  regulating 
its  motions,  that  no  nipping  frost,  and  no  storm  of  snow  can 
possibly  come  to  desolate  their  little  dwelling.  They  can 
not  defend  themselves  from  violence  or  escape  from  it.  True  ; 
and  God  has  so  regulated  the  instincts  and  propensities  of  the 
millions  of  living  things  around  them,  that  they  shall  be  ex- 
posed to  none.  They  can  not  provide  themselves  with  food, 
and  it  will  take  but  very  few  hours  to  bring  them  to  ex- 
cruciating suffering  unless  they  are  supplied.  But  they  will 
be  supplied.  God  has  sent  out  his  messengers  to  provide  for 
them.  One  flies  from  tree  to  tree  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
forest,  and  the  other  perhaps  hops  upon  the  shore  of  the 
brook  or  pond.     The  trees  around  them  are  filled  with  thou- 


36 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  pair. 


The  scene  changed. 


January. 


sands  of  other  birds,  alluring  them  by  their  songs,  and  brighter 
vales  and  more  shady  trees  invite  them  to  stay.  But  no. 
God  has  bound  them  to  one  another  and  to  their  helpless 
young,  by  a  mechanism,  as  incomprehensible  in  its  nature  as 
it  is  beautiful  in  its  results.  It  allows  them  to  fly  freely  and 
unfettered  as  they  choose,  but  it  retains  its  indissoluble  hold 
upon  them  wherever  they  go.  No  song  of  a  stranger  will 
make  them  forget  their  own  ;  no  sunny  bank  or  shady  grove 
will  have  charms  enough  to  detain  them  ;  but  faithful  to 
their  trust  they  toil  industriously  through  the  day,  and  un- 
less death  or  violence  keep  them  away,  they  will  be  ready 
with  their  supply,  when  at  night  their  helpless  young  open 
their  mouths  and  cry  for  food.  We  can  not  comprehend  the 
admirable  mechanism  by  which  these  results  are  secured,  but 
we  love  the  character  which  our  Father  manifests  in  securing 
them. 

But  let  us  change 
the  scene.  It  is  Janu- 
ary, and  we  walk  out 
into  the  same  forest, 
and  look  upon  the 
same  stream  which  in 
summer  was  the  scene 
of  so  much  life  and  ac- 
tivity and  happiness. 
How  changed !  Where 
are  the  insects  now, 
which  sported  in  the 
sunbeams,  on  the  glassy 
surface  of  the  water  ? 
That  surface  is  still 
WINTER.  more     glassy    now, — 

solid    and    cold, — and 
over  it  scud  the  dry  wreaths  of  snow  before  the  bleak  wind. 


THE    DEITY.  37 


Plans  for  protection.  The  winter  home. 

Where  are  now  the  thousand  forms  of  happy  life,  which  en- 
livened every  bank  and  fluttered  from  flower  to  flower  ? 
Alas  !  sunny  bank  and  gay  flower,  and  verdant  turf  are 
gone  !  The  deep  snow  clothes  the  whole  surface  of  the 
ground,  covering  every  smaller  plant,  and  rising  around  the 
naked  trunks  of  the  tall  trees, — hanging  in  wreaths  over  the 
banks,  and  fast  accumulating,  as  the  driving  wintry  storm 
brings  on  fresh  supplies  from  God's  inexhaustible  treasuries. 
Where  is  that  happy  home  among  the  branches  of  the  tree  ? 
The  leaves  which  sheltered  it  are  gone,  a  mass  of  drifting 
snow  marks  the  spot  where  the  desolate  and  forsaken  habita- 
tion remains,  and  the  cold  dreary  wind  whistles  through  the 
naked  branches  around. 

We  must  remember,  too,  that  it  is  not  in  this  one  spot 
alone,  that  this  change,  and  this  apparent  exhaustion  of  life 
has  taken  place.  For  thousands  of  miles,  in  almost  every 
direction,  in  June,  life  and  activity  and  enjoyment  were  as 
abundant  as  in  this  little  dell,  and  now  over  all  this  wide  ex- 
tent winter  has  spread  her  reign  of  desolation  and  death. 
Has  God  left,  is  the  very  natural  inquiry, — has  God  left  all 
these  millions  of  his  creatures  to  be  overwhelmed  with  de- 
struction ? 

No ;  scarcely  one.  He  has  secured  and  protected  them 
all.  Never  did  the  most  cautious  husbandman  lay  in  his 
stores,  and  prepare  his  clothing,  and  secure  the  warmth  and 
tightness  of  his  buildings  with  half  the  efficiency  of  foresight 
and  care  which  God  exhibits  every  autumn,  in  shutting  up, 
in  places  of  safety  and  protection,  all  the  varieties  of  animal 
and  vegetable  life.  The  storm  and  the  wintry  cold  are  not 
allowed  to  come  till  he  has  given  maturity  and  strength  to 
the  helpless  birds,  and  sent  them  away  to  warmer  climes. 
Other  animals  have,  in  obedience  to  an  impulse  of  which 
they  could  not  know  the  nature  and  design,  been  industriously 
employed  during  the  summer,  in  laying  in  their  winter  stores  ; 


38  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

The  chrysalis.  The  ant.  God  a  father. 

and  are  now  sheltered  in  holes,  or  hollow  trunks,  sleeping 
undisturbed  in  the  midst  of  a  plenty  which  God  has  provided 
for  them.  Even  the  insect  tribes,  so  delicate  and  frail,  are 
all  safe.  By  a  most  admirable  arrangement,  generation  suc- 
ceeds generation  in  such  a  way,  that  the  animal  life  of  a 
whole  species  exists  in  such  a  form  at  the  approach  of  win- 
ter, that  ice  and  cold  and  snow  can  produce  neither  injury 
nor  pain.  In  these  and  in  other  ways,  God  has  secured  for 
all,  protection,  and  exemption  from  suffering,  and  when  the 
first  wintry  midnight  storm  roars  through  the  forest,  it  finds 
every  thing  prepared  for  it.  Every  nest  is  empty,  and  its  in- 
mates are  safe  in  another  clime.  All  insect  existence  is  pro- 
tected, and  the  field-mouse,  and  even  the  little  ant,  are  care- 
fully housed  in  their  warm  and  sheltered  and  plentiful 
home. 

By  such  examinations  as  these,  of  God's  works,  we  see 
that  he  is  Love  ;  that  he  is  not  merely  a  cold  contriver,  ex- 
hibiting in  his  works  mechanical  skill  and  power  alone,  but 
that  he  has  feelings  of  affection,  that  he  is  susceptible  of 
strong  personal  interest  and  attachment.  It  gives  us  great 
intellectual  gratification  to  look  at  the  exhibitions  of  his  mere 
invention  and  power,  but  it  touches  our  hearts,  and  awakens 
a  deep  and  warm  feeling  there,  when  we  see  this  skill  and 
power  brought  into  requisition  to  secure  the  protection  and 
happiness  of  even  the  lowest  creatures  that  he  has  formed. 
The  inference  is  irresistible,  that  he  who  takes  so  much  pains 
to  bring  to  every  unfledged  robin  or  sparrow  its  daily  sup- 
plies of  food,  can  not  be  indifferent  to  our  protection  and  hap- 
ness.  It  must  be  that  he  considers  us  of  more  value  than 
many  sparrows. 

In  studying  the  character  however  of  the  great  unseen 
Power  which  pervades  the  universe,  you  must  not  look  exclu- 
sively at  those  kind  and  gentle  aspects  of  it,  which  we  have 
been  exhibiting.     God  is  a  magistrate  as  well  as  a  father 


THE    DEITY.  39 


A  magistrate  too.  System. 

It  is  the  part  of  the  magistrate  to  act  on  system,  and  to  he 
firm  and  decided  in  sustaining  system  and  law.  Plans  must 
he  formed  with  reference  to  the  general  good,  and  these  plans 
must  he  steadily  pursued,  even  at  the  occasional  expense  of 
great  individual  suffering.  The  wider  the  field,  the  more 
extensive  the  community,  and  the  more  lasting  and  moment- 
ous the  interests  involved,  the  greater  is  the  necessity  of  this 
determined  firmness  on  the  part  of  the  magistrate  upon 
whom  the  responsibility  devolves.  If  now  you  wish  to  make 
out  for  yourself  a  Deity  such  as  may  suit  your  own  weakness 
or  timidity,  you  will  pass  over  this  part  of  God's  character ; 
but  if  you  wish  for  truth, — if  you  really  wish  to  understand 
what  sort  of  a  Power  it  is  that  holds  the  reins  of  government 
over  us  all,  you  will  not  allow  this  aspect  of  his  character 
to  pass  unexamined. 

Wherever  we  look,  then,  whether  to  nature  or  revelation, 
or  to  that  more  distinct  manifestation  of  his  character 
which  the  invisible  Supreme  has  made  to  us  in  the  person 
of  Jesus  Christ,  we  shall  find  the  most  overwhelming,  and 
sometimes  appalling  proofs,  that  God  acts  upon  system ; — 
that  he  has  planned  a  system,  both  of  physical  and  moral 
law,  with  reference  to  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  num- 
ber, and  that  this  system  he  will  sustain,  with  the  most 
determined  and  persevering  decision.  I  shrink  from  coming 
to  this  part  of  my  subject.  Many  of  my  readers,  without 
doubt,  who  have  followed  me  with  all  their  hearts,  in  the 
pictures  of  God's  character  which  have  been  exhibited  so 
far,  will  hang  back  reluctant  from  what  remains.  But  we 
must  know  the  whole.  We  must  endeavor  to  understand 
fully  the  character  of  the  great  Being  with  whom  we  have 
to  do. 

If  then  we  look  at  the  manifestations  of  Jehovah's  char- 
acter which  he  has  made,  and  is  making,  in  nature  all 
around  us,  you  will  find,  as  I  said  above,  that  he  acts  upon 


40  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Firmness  and  decision.  The  suffering  child.  Ita  mother. 

system,  and  that  he  will  pursue  the  plan  which  public  good 
requires,  firmly  and  efficiently,  even  at  the  expense  of  great 
individual  suffering.  Let  me  first  illustrate  this,  in  regard 
to  a  mere  physical  law. 

You  are  studying  God's  character,  I  will  suppose,  in  what 
you  see  of  his  works,  and  as  you  pass  by  some  usually  quiet 
and  happy  dwelling,  your  attention  is  attracted  by  piercing 
cries  from  within,  apparently  coming  from  a  child  and  indi- 
cating acute  suffering.  You  enter  to  ascertain  the  cause, 
and  find  that  a  little  infant,  just  learning  to  delight  its 
parents'  hearts  by  its  opening  faculties  of  speech  and  reason, 
has  fallen  into  the  fire,  and  is  dreadfully  burned.  The  poor 
child  cries  piteously,  and  extends  its  arms  to  its  parents  for 
relief.  It  has  never  before  known  a. pain  which  they  could 
not  either  relieve  or  mitigate,  and  its  look  of  anguish  seems 
to  upbraid  them  for  not  rescuing  it  now.  Its  agonized 
parents,  suffering  even  more  than  the  child,  look  this  way 
and  that  for  help,  but  in  vain.  The  injury  is  too  deep 
to  be  repaired.  Hour  after  hour,  nay  day  after  day,  the 
intense  suffering  continues,  until  fever  and  delirium  close 
the  sad  scene. 

Close  it,  did  I  say  ?  No.  The  child  sleeps,  but  memory 
does  not  sleep  in  the  breast  of  its  half-distracted  mother. 
For  weeks  and  months  her  eyes  will  fill  with  tears,  and 
her  heart  will  almost  burst,  as  she  looks  upon  the  deserted 
little  cradle,  or  the  now  useless  toy.  Those  heart-rending 
cries  and  dying  struggles  are  perpetuated  in  her  mind  by 
faculties  which  God  has  planted  there ;  and  the  recollec- 
tion will  for  months  and  years  haunt  her  by  day,  and 
terrify  her  in  midnight  dreams. 

All  this  follows  from  the  accident  of  a  moment,  for  which 
no  one  was  to  blame.  There  is  but  one  Power  in  existence 
who  could  arrest  these  consequences,  after  the  occurrence  of 
the    cause.     And  will  he  do    it?     Will  he    interpose    and 


THE    DEITY,  41 


Physical  law  sustained.  God's  determined  decision.  General  laws. 

stop  the  torture,  and  heal  the  wound,  and  bring  relief  and 
happiness  once  more  to  the  distracted  family  ?  Or  will  he 
remain  calmly  by,  leaving  the  laws  of  matter  and  of  mind 
to  work  out  in  such  a  case  their  awful  consequences  to 
the  full  ? 

The  question  does  not  need  an  answer.  He  has  estab- 
lished laws  in  regard  to  the  nature  anA  effects  of  fire  upon 
the  human  frame,  and  the  connection  of  bodily  injury  with 
bodily  suffering,  and  the  principles  which  regulate  the  move- 
ments of  the  human  heart,  which  he  sees  are  best  on  the 
whole.  These  laws  he  has  established.  He  sees  that  it  is 
best  that  they  should  be  liable  to  no  exceptions  and  no  un- 
certainty in  their  course,  and  he  accordingly  ivill  carry  them 
through.  Men  sometimes  exhibit  some  good  degree  of  firm- 
ness and  decision  in  carrying  out  a  plan  which  is  on  the 
whole  for  the  best ;  but  if  we  will  look  around  us  at  the 
works  of  Providence,  that  invite  our  examination  on  every 
side,  we  shall  see  that  God  does  not  hesitate  to  go,  in  the 
execution  of  his  laws,  where  the  firmest  and  most  decided 
men  would  shrink  from  following. 

Perhaps  some  persons  may  object  to  such  a  view  of  our 
Maker's  character ;  but  if  they  do,  it  seems  impossible  to 
avoid  the  conclusion  that  it  is  the  character  itself  that  they 
object  to,  and  not  to  any  thing  peculiar  in  this  mode  of 
presenting  it.  These  are  facts  which  I  have  been  exhibiting, 
not  theories.  They  are  common  facts,  too,  that  is,  the  case 
which  I  have  chosen  as  an  illustration  is  one  that  not  un- 
frequently  occurs,  exactly  as  I  have  described  it,  and  it  is 
moreover  a  fair  specimen  of  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  occurrences  which  are  precisely  analogous  to  it  in 
their  nature,  and  which  are  constantly  taking  place  in  the 
view  of  every  observer.  Nor  can  there  be  any  doubt  of  the 
explanation  I  have  given.  That  God  has  ordained  these 
general  laws  no  one  can  doubt  or  deny.     That  he  might 


42  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Moral  law.  The  wretched  dwelling.  The  interior. 

arrest  or  suspend  their  operation  in  individual  cases  if  he  was 
inclined  to  do  so,  is  equally  unquestionable ;  and  his  allow- 
ing them  to  work  their  way  through  so  much  misery,  is 
proof  clear  and  undeniable  as  demonstration,  that  though 
he  loves  happiness  and  is  continually  forming  plans  to  secure 
it  for  milHons  and  millions  of  his  creatures,  he  can  still 
firmly  and  steadily  witness  individual  suffering,  when  neces- 
sary, and  that  he  will  do  it,  rather  than  sacrifice  the  general 
good  by  violating  law. 

We  shall  see  this  still  more  clearly  and  its  effects  are  still 
more  terrible,  in  regard  to  the  operations  of  moral  law.  I 
mean  law  relating  to  the  moral  conduct  of  men.  If  we 
really  wish  to  know  what  God's  actual  character  is,  as  he 
exhibits  it  in  what  he  does,  we  shall  take  special  interest  in 
observing  what  he  does  in  cases  of  guilt. 

On  the  side  of  a  bleak  and  barren  hill  half  a  mile  from 
the  village  in  which  you  reside,  stands  a  miserable  house, 
or  rather  hovel,  which  has  often  attracted  your  attention 
in  your  walks,  by  its  ruinous  and  dilapidated  condition,  and 
the  pale,  sickly,  wretched  children  which  shiver  at  the  door. 
Did  you  ever  consider  what  sort  of  a  scene  its  interior  usually 
presents,  at  night  ?     Come  with  me  and  see. 

The  inner  door  hanging  by  a  single  hinge  opens  creak- 
ingly,  and  the  cold,  empty,  miserable  apartment,  presents  to 
you  an  expression  of  wretchedness  far  more  gloomy  than 
even  the  exterior  had  led  you  to  expect.  The  sickly,  worn- 
out  wife  and  mother  is  trying  in  vain  to  make  out,  from 
former  remnants,  some  food  for  herself  and  her  half-starved 
children.  They  sit  around  the  room,  or  hover  over  the 
embers,  in  a  half  stupor.  They  do  not  cry.  The  extreme 
of  misery  is  silent,  and  these  wretched  ones  are  beyond  tears. 
She  is  hurrying  through  her  work  to  get  the  children  away 
from  an  approaching  danger.  What  is  that  danger,  which 
she  does  not  dare  that  they  should  meet  with  her  ?     Why 


THE    DEITY.  43 


Misery.  The  father's  return.  Unpunished  guilt,  and  suffering  innocence. 

tlieir  father  is  coming  home.  If  it  was  the  lightning,  or  a 
tornado,  or  a  midnight  assassin,  she  would  gather  her  chil- 
dren around  her,  and  they  would  feel  safer  and  happier 
together.  But  their  father  is  coming  home,  and  the  uncon- 
trollable passions  of  an  insane  husband  and  father,  she 
chooses  to  bear  alone.  She  sends  her  children  away.  She 
hides  her  babe  in  the  most  secret  place  she  can  find  ; — in  a 
comer  an  emaciated,  shivering  boy  crawls  into  something 
like  a  bed,  and  spreads  over  his  limbs  the  thin  covering 
which  is  all  that  is  left  for  clothing,  and  then  draws  himself 
up,  as  if  trying  to  shrink  away  from  the  cold ;  and  per- 
haps a  girl,  by  a  choice  of  miseries,  has  pleaded  for  permis- 
sion to  stay  with  her  mother. 

All  this  is  however  the  mere  prelude, — ^the  preparation, 
anticipating  the  scene  of  real  misery  which  the  return  of  the 
abandoned  husband  and  father  is  to  bring.  But  here  I  must 
stop ;  for  if  I  were  to  describe  the  scene  which  ensues,  just  as 
it  is  actually  exhibited  in  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
families  all  over  England  and  America,  every  night,  my 
readers  would  lay  down  the  book,  sick  at  heart,  at  the  con- 
templation of  the  guilt  and  miseries  of  man. 

But  the  point  that  I  am  wishing  to  bring  to  view  in  all 
this  case,  is  this.  How  firmly  and  steadily  will  Jehovah  go 
on,  night  after  night,  for  months  and  years,  and  allow  the 
wretched  sinner  in  this  case  to  drink  all  the  bitter  dregs  of 
the  cup  he  chooses,  and  to  bring  down  its  dreadful  effects 
upon  his  helpless  wife  and  children.  Nay  we  may  go  further 
back.  For  all  this  misery  is  primarily  caused  by  a  poison 
which  another  man  supplies  ;  he  deals  it  out — a  daily  potion 
of  death — and  while  his  own  head  is  sheltered,  and  his  own 
fireside  safe  from  its  effects,  he  is  permitted  by  Providence  to 
go  on  for  years,  sending  these  streams  of  misery  into  many 
families  all  around  him.  Why  does  not  God  interpose  to 
arrest  this  vice  and  suffering  ?     Why  does  he  not  shelter  this 


44  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Unpunished  guilt.  Penalties.  Language  of  the  Bible. 

wretched  wife,  and  warm  and  feed  these  perishing  but  inno- 
cent children  ? — ^innocent  at  least  of  the  causes  of  their  misery. 
Why  does  he  not  by  a  change  in  the  constitution  of  nature 
destroy  the  possibility  of  making  a  poison  so  excruciating  in 
its  effects  ?  There  can  be  but  one  answer.  He  sees  that  it 
is  on  the  whole  for  the  best,  that  man  should  be  left  free  to 
sin  if  he  will,  and  that  the  nature  of  sin  should  be  shown  by 
allowing  it  to  work  out  undisturbed  its  own  awful  results  to 
all  connected  with  the  sinner.  These  plans  of  his  govern- 
ment he  has  the  firmness  to  carry  out, — though  every  year 
they  cut  down  thousands  of  wretched  wives  and  starved  chil- 
dren. The  man  who  chooses  to  send  firebrands,  arrows,  and 
death  around  him,  has  under  the  government  of  God  an  op- 
portunity to  do  so.  The  door  is  wide  open.  And  the  help- 
less and  innocent  wife  and  children  must  take  the  conse- 
quences. But  oh,  thou  forlorn  and  broken-hearted  mother, 
be  of  good  courage.  Thou  art  not  forgotten,  though  fixed  laws 
must  take  their  course.  Thou  shalt  have  a  hearing  in  due  time. 

Such  cases  as  the  above,  are  rather  cases  of  moral  arrange- 
ments carried  out  firmly  to  their  end,  than  examples  of  the 
execution  of  the  penalties  of  a  moral  law.  I  do  not  bring 
forward  cases  of  the  latter  kind,  because  they  are  familiar  to 
every  one,  and  most  certainly  if  God  does  not  shrink  from  indi- 
vidual suffering,  when  it  is  necessary  to  sustain  the  uniform- 
ity of  material  processes,  or  to  carry  out  the  moral  opera- 
tions of  his  general  system,  who  can  imagine  that  he  will  fail 
in  the  energy  of  his  government,  in  regard  to  the  conse- 
quences of  personal  guilt.  The  Bible  speaks  on  this  subject 
in  language  so  terrible,  that  men  shrink  from  repeating  it ; 
but  nature  speaks  all  around  us  more  emphatically  and  more 
terribly  still. '^ 

*  We  must  not  suppose  from  these  facts,  that  the  Deity  is  guided, 
in  the  government  of  the  world,  by  general  laws,  which,  though  on  the 


THE    DEITY.  45 


Leading  traits  of  the  Divine  character. 


As  I  have  already  remarked,  it  would  not  be  surprising  if 
some  of  my  readers  were  to  shrink  back  from  these  views 
of  the  determined  decision  which  God  manifests  in  carrying 
out  to  the  end,  all  these  arrangements  which  he  has  once 
deliberately  adopted  for  the  ultimate  good  of  all.  We  can 
not  deny,  however,  that  the  history  of  God's  dealings  with 
men  is  full  of  such  examples  as  we  have  presented,  and  that 
if  we  really  and  honestly  wish  to  know  what  is  his  char- 
acter, and  what  principles  do  really  govern  his  conduct, 
such  cases  deserve  a  most  attentive  consideration.  He  who 
wishes  to  frame  for  himself  an  imaginary  Deity,  suited  to 
his  own  limited  views  and  narrow  conceptions,  will  probably 
shut  his  eyes  against  them.  We  however  wish  to  know  the 
truth,  whatever  it  may  be,  and  if  we  attempt  to  study 
God's  character  as  it  is  exhibited  in  those  manifestations 
of  himself,  which  he  makes  in  his  daily  providence,  we  shall 
find  everywhere  inscribed  in  blazing  characters.  Unbound- 
ed   POWER   AND    SKILL  ;    UNIVERSAL     AND     INEXTINGUISHABLE 

LOVE ;    AND  Inflexible  firmness   in    the    execution   op 

LAW. 

We  have  thus  far  exhibited  the  mode  by  which  you  are 
to  study  the  character  of  our  great  Magistrate  and  Father, 
by  his  acts ;  and  this  mode  of  study,  you  will  observe,  is 
essentially  the  same,  whether  you  read  the  record  of  his  acts 
contained  in  the  Bible,  or  observe  them  in  the  histories  of 
nations  and  individuals,  or  in  the  occurrences  of  common  life. 
All  these,  however,  constitute  but  one  mode  by  which  the 
Deity   manifests   himself  to  men.      There  are  two  others 

whole  useful  and  salutary,  are,  in  indiridual  cases,  mischievous  and 
only  to  be  tolerated  because  they  effect  on  the  -whole,  more  good  than 
evil.  These  laws  of  nature,  even  in  those  cases  where,  to  the  eye  of 
man,  they  produce  nothing  but  evil,  are  in  reality  as  truly  intended  and 
calculated  to  produce  good,  as  in  the  other  cases  where  the  good  ia 
manifest  and  direct. 


46  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Second  manifestation.  The  Holy  Spirit.  Contrasts  of  character. 

which  I  must  briefly  allude  to  here,  though  they  will  be 
more  fully  brought  to  view  in  the  future  chapters  of  this 
work. 

The  second  great  manifestation  of  the  Deity  which  is  made 
to  us,  is  in  the  exertion  of  a  direct  power  upon  the  human 
heart.  In  all  the  ages  of  the  world,  there  have  been  remark- 
able exceptions  to  the  prevailing  selfishness  and  sin  which 
generally  reign  among  mankind.  These  exceptions  occur  in 
the  earlier  history  contained  in  the  Bible ;  and  were  it  not 
for  the  light  which  Christianity  throws  upon  the  subject,  they 
would  be  almost  unaccountable.  Cain  and  Abel,  for  ex- 
ample,, took  entirely  different  courses  in  reference  to  their 
duties  toward  God.  Love,  gratitude,  and  reverence  seem  to 
have  reigned  in  the  heart  of  one,  while  a  cold,  heartless,  and 
selfish  worship  was  all  that  the  other  rendered.  Here  is  an 
extraordinary  difference  among  beings  of  the  same  species 
possessing  the  same  native  powers  and  propensities,  and 
placed  in  substantially  the  same  circumstances. 

Noah  listened  to  the  warning  voice  of  God,  while  all  the 
rest  of  the  world  gave  themselves  up  to  sin.  Why  should 
this  be  so  ?  Worldly  pleasure,  we  might  have  suppoosed, 
would  have  been  as  alluring  to  him  as  to  others,  and  the  dis- 
position to  obey  and  fear  their  Maker  as  strong  in  others  as 
in  him.  But  it  was  not  so.  He  stood  alone  ;  and  how  shall 
the  moral  phenomenon  of  his  solitary  virtue  amid  universal 
degeneracy  and  vice  be  explained  ? 

So  in  a  multitude  of  other  cases.  The  narratives  with 
which  the  Old  Testament  is  filled  seem  designed  to  exhibit 
to  us  contrasts.  A  few  individuals,  with  hearts  filled  with 
filial  affection  toward  God,  form  the  bright  parts  of  the  pic- 
ture, and  the  natural  character  of  selfishness  and  sin,  acting 
in  different  circumstances,  but  in  all  working  out  the  same 
bitter  fruits,  exhibit  abundantly  the  darker  shades.  Why 
should  this  be  so  ?     Why  should  Abraham  find  in  himself  a 


THE    DEITY.  47 


Influences  of  the  Spirit.  Testimony  of  the  Bible ;  of  witnesses. 

willingness  to  obey  God,  and  to  deal  kindly  and  justly  with 
man,  while  ungodliness,  injustice  and  cruelty  reigned  almost 
all  around  him.  Why  was  Joseph  pure  and  spotless, — con- 
scientious, just  and  forgiving  ?  His  brothers  were  men  of 
violence  and  blood.  Why,  in  such  a  family  should  there  be 
such  an  exception  ? 

Similar  examples  have  been  always  occurring,  and  the 
Bible  exhibits  them  as  the  effects  of  a  peculiar  operation  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  as  it  is  termed,  upon  the  human  heart, — a 
mysterious  operation,  powerful  in  its  results,  but  incompre- 
hensible in  its  nature.  This  you  will  observe  is  a  manifesta-  '?^^ 
tion  of  the  Divinity  entirely  different  from  those  to  which  we 
have-  already  alluded.  In  the  works  of  creation  and  provi- 
dence, Jehovah  himself  acts,  and  from  the  nature  of  his  ac- 
tions we  learn  his  character.  In  his  direct  power  over  moral 
agents,  he  mysteriously  mingles  his  influences  with  their 
moral  powers,  so  as  to  lead  them  to  act,  and  by  the  charac*  ^^i^ 
ter  of  the  results,  we  likewise  in  this  case  learn  his  character. 
They  are  however  two  modes  of  manifesting  the  powers  and 
character  of  the  Deity,  which  are  very  dissimilar. 

This  class  of  moral  effects  are  not  only  in  the  Bible  ascribed 
to  an  influence  from  above,  but  they  have  always  been  so 
attributed  by  the  individuals  themselves.  Good  men,  in  all 
ages,  have  always  understood,  and  have  been  eager  to  ac- 
knowledge their  dependence  upon  a  higher  power,  for  all 
that  is  good  in  their  hearts.  They  have  differed  exceedingly 
in  their  modes  of  expressing  it,  but  they  have  agreed  sub- 
stantially as  to  the  fact.  It  has  always  been  easy  for  an  an- 
tagonist to  run  them  into  difficulty  and  perplexity  in  defend- 
ing the  opinion ;  still  they  have  clung  unceasingly  to  it ;  or 
returned  to  it  again  and  again  when  torn  away ;  and  go 
where  you  will,  among  mankind,  wherever  you  find  holiness 
of  heart,  and  real  moral  virtue,  you  will  find  their  possessor 
ascribing  them  to  a  mysterious  but   all-powerful    influence 


48  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

United  testimony.  The  Son.  Seeing  face  to  faoe. 

from  above.  It  is  so  with  the  refined  and  cultivated  intellect 
in  the  most  elevated  Christian  community,  and  it  is  so  with 
the  humblest,  lowest  savage  that  ever  bowed  before  his  Maker 
to  confess  and  to  abandon  his  sins.  It  was  so  in  former  times 
with  David  and  with  Paul,  and  it  is  so  now  with  every  lonely 
widow,  who,  in  God  finds  consolation  and  even  happiness  in 
the  midst  of  her  tears  ;  and  with  every  sick  child,  who,  re- 
newed by  the  Holy  Spirit,  finds  such  peace  with  God  that  he 
can  smile  at  death,  and  welcome  the  grave. 

A  more  full  consideration  of  this  subject  we  must  reserve  ; 
we  only  allude  to  it  here,  in  order  to  bring  distinctly  forward 
in  its  place,  the  fact  that  there  is  this,  among  the  other 
modes,  by  which  the  great  unseen  power  manifests  himself  to 
men. 

There  is  one  other ;  which  we  have  already  alluded  to, — 
that  more  direct  and  personal  exhibition  of  himself  which 
God  has  made  in  Jesus  Christ  his  son.  Here  God,  for  the 
first  time,  shows  himself  to  men,  openly  and  without  a  veil. 
Here  we  see  the  mioral  attributes  of  divinity  in  living  and 
acting  reality.  In  those  other  manifestations  of  himself 
which  he  has  made,  "  we  see  through  a  glass  darkly,  but 
here  face  to  face."  When  he  acts  in  his  providence,  or  in 
the  mysterious  and  secret  agency  of  his  Spirit  in  human 
hearts,  we  must  pause  and  reflect,  in  order  to  come  to  con- 
clusions ;  we  must  trace  back  causes  to  effects,  and  infer  the 
principles  which  must  have  guided  them.  But  when  the 
great  Unseen  assumes  our  own  human  nature,  when  he  be- 
comes flesh,  and  dwells  among  us,  his  attributes  and  perfec- 
tions come  out  into  open  day. 

Such  are  the  three  great  manifestations  of  himself  to  men, 
which  the  one  unseen  all-pervading  essence  has  made,  as  ex- 
hibited to  us  in  the  Bible,  and  in  our  own  experience  and  ob- 
servation. Though  there  have  been  interminable  disputes  in 
the  Christian  church  about  the  language  which  has  been  em- 


THE    DEITY.  49 


Studying  God's  character.  True  mode.  Approaching  the  Deity. 

ployed  to  describe  these  facts,  there  has  been  comparatively 
little  dispute  among  even  nominal  Christians  about  the  facts 
themselves.  I  have  endeavored  in  describing  them  to  go 
just  as  far  as  the  Bible  goes,  and  no  farther,  and  to  use  as 
nearly  as  possible  the  expressions  which  are  furnished  us  in 
that  sacred  volume. 

These  views,  my  readers  will  perceive,  open  a  very  wide 
field  to  be  explored  in  studying  the  character  of  God.  Many 
young  persons,  when  they  hear  of  this  study,  form  no  idea  of 
any  thing  more  than  committing  to  memory  a  few  passages 
of  Scripture,  or  learning  by  rote  the  summary  views  of  some 
theological  writer.  But  you  see  that  all  nature  and  all  reve- 
lation, the  whole  field  of  observation,  and  of  experience,  and 
all  the  records  of  history  are  full  of  materials.  Go,  then,  and 
take  no  man's  opinion  upon  trust,  but  study  the  character  of 
God  for  yourselves  by  seeing  what  he  does. 

There  is  one  thing  more  to  be  said,  before  I  close  this  chap- 
ter. Many  persons  feel  a  difiiculty  in  determining  how  to 
ipproach  the  Deity  in  prayer.  "  What  conception,"  you 
ask,  "  shall  we  form,  of  the  Being  whom  we  address  ?" 

The  unseen  Divinity  itself,  in  its  purely  spiritual  form,  we 
can  not  conceive  of ;  they  who  attempt  to  do  it  will  find  on  a 
careful  analysis  of  the  mental  operation,  that  it  is  the  visible 
universe  itself,  that  they  picture  to  their  minds,  when  in 
prayer  they  endeavor  to  form  an  abstract  conception  of  the 
Deity  which  pervades  it.  Others  in  imagination  look  up- 
ward, and  form  a  confused  and  an  absurd  idea  of  a  monarch 
on  a  throne  of  gold,  adorned  with  crown  and  scepter,  and 
sitting  in  a  fancied  region  which  they  call  heaven.  This  is 
a  delusion  which  we  have  already  endeavored  to  dispel. 
Driven  from  this  imagination,  the  soul  roams  throughout  the 
universe  among  suns  and  stars,  or  over  the  busy  surface  of 

the  earth,  seeking  in  vain  for  some  conceivable  image  of  the 

C 


50  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Access  by  Jesus  Christ.  Conclusion. 

Deity,  some  form  on  which  the  thoughts  can  rest,  and  to- 
ward which  the  feelings  can  concentrate.  It  looks  however 
in  vain.  God  manifests  himself  indeed  in  the  blazing  sun, 
the  fiery  comet, — and  in  the  verdure  and  bloom  of  the  bound- 
less regions  of  the  earth ;  but  these  are  not  the  avenues 
through  which  a  soul  burdened  with  its  sins,  would  desire  to 
approach  its  Maker.  The  gospel  solves  the  difficulty.  "  It 
is  by  Jesus  Christ  that  we  have  access  to  the  Father."  This 
vivid  exhibition  of  his  character,  this  personification  of  his 
moral  attributes  opens  to  us  the  way.  Here  we  see  a  mani- 
festation of  divinity,  an  image  of  the  invisible  God  which 
comes  as  it  were  down  to  us  ;  it  meets  our  feeble  faculties 
with  a  personification  exactly  adapted  to  their  wants,  so  that 
the  soul,  when  pressed  by  the  trials  and  difficulties  of  its  con- 
dition, when  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  or  bowed  down  by 
remorse,  or  earnestly  longing  for  holiness,  will  pass  by  all  the 
other  outward  exhibitions  of  the  Deity,  and  approach  the  in- 
visible supreme,  through  that  manifestation  of  himself  which 
he  has  made  in  the  person  of  Jesus  Christ,  his  son,  our 
Savior. 


THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS.  51 

The  Savior's  first  words.  His  last  words. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE     MAN     CHRIST     JESUS. 
"  Leaving  us  an  example  that  ye  should  walk  in  his  stepa." 

The  very  first  words  of  our  Savior,  which  have  been  pre- 
served for  us,  contain  an  expression  of  the  great  leading  prin- 
ciple which  regulated  his  whole  life.  "  I  must  be  about  my 
Father's  business.^'  His  last  words,  too,  show,  that  thirty 
years  of  fatigue,  and  danger,  and  suffering,  did  not  extinguish 
his  zeal  in  this  his  work.  "Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and 
preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature''  He  came  into  the 
world  to  do  something,  not  for  himself,  but  for  his  Father, 
and  he  devoted  hiraseif  to  it  entirely.  He  was  continually 
engaged  in  this  work,  while  he  remained  here — going  from 
place  to  place,  and  encountering  continual  hardship  and  dan- 
ger and  suffering  ;  and  all  without  any  reference  to  his  own 
selfish  interests,  but  regarding  solely  the  work  which  he  had 
to  do  for  the  salvation  of  men.  And  at  last,  when  he  left  the 
world,  his  final  charge  to  his  disciples  was,  that  they  should 
be  faithful  and  persevering  in  carrying  forward  the  work 
which  he  had  thus  earnestly  begun. 

In  fact  Jesus  Christ  was  so  entirely  devoted  to  his  Father's 
business  while  he  was  upon  earth,  that  half  the  readers  of 
his  life  do  not  imagine  that  he  had  any  personal  feelings  or 
desires  of  his  own.  But  we  must  not  forget,  that  he  was 
a  man,  possessed  of  all  the  feelings,  and  exposed  to  all  the 
temptations  of  men.     He  might  have  formed  the  scheme  of 


52  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Perfection.  Common  illusion.  Real  claims  of  Christianity. 

being  a  Napoleon,  if  he  had  chosen  to  do  so.  The  world  was 
before  him.  He  had  the  opportunity,  and  so  far  as  we  can 
understand  the  mysterious  description  of  his  temptation,  he 
was  urged  to  make  the  attempt. 

It  is  surprising  how  much  the  example  of  Christ  loses  its 
power  over  us,  simply  on  account  of  the  absolute  perfection 
of  it.  If  he  had  been  partly  a  lover  of  pleasure,  if  he  had 
for  instance  built  himself  a  splendid  mansion,  and  ornamented 
his  grounds,  and  devoted  some  portion  of  his  time  to  selfish 
enjoyment  there  ;  or  if  he  had  entered  into  political  life,  and 
given  a  share  of  his  attention  to  promoting  his  own  honor, 
we  might  perhaps  have  felt  that  he  was  more  like  one  of  us : 
and  if  then  he  had  torn  himself  away  from  these  temptations, 
so  as  finally  to  have  devoted  his  chief  time  and  attention  to 
the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  men,  the  example  which  he 
would  thus  have  set  for  us,  would  have  seemed  perhaps  more 
within  our  reach.  The  selfish  and  worldly  spirit,  which  he 
would  have  exhibited,  would,  as  it  were,  have  made  his  case 
come  home  to  us,  and  then  whatever  fidelity  and  zeal  he 
might  have  shown  in  his  Father's  work,  would  have  allured 
us  to  an  imitation  of  it.  But  as  it  is,  since  he  gave  himself 
up  wholly  to  his  duty,  since  he  relinquished  the  world  alto- 
gether, Christians  seem  to  think,  that  his  bright  example  is 
only  to  a  very  limited  extent  an  example  for  them.  But  we 
must  remember,  as  I  said  before,  that  Jesus  Christ  was  a 
man.  His  powers  were  human  powers.  His  feelings  were 
human  feelings,  and  his  example  is  strictly  and  exactly  an 
example  for  all  the  world.  Yet  how  few  consider  it  in  this 
light.  Christians  admit  indeed  that  the  general  principles 
which  regulate  his  conduct  ought  to  regulate  theirs ;  but 
then  the  most  that  they  generally  think  of  attempting  is  to 
follow  in  his  steps  slowly  and  hesitatingly,  and  at  a  great 
distance  behind. 

And  there  is  nothing  in  which  the  example  of  Christ  takes 


THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  53 


Mohammedanism.  Paganism.  The  worldly  man. 

less  hold  of  men,  than  in  this  leading  principle  of  his  conduct, 
— devotedness  to  his  Father's  business.  How  perfectly  evi- 
dent it  is,  that  a  very  large  proportion  of  professing  Christians 
are  doing  their  own  business  in  this  world,  and  not  their 
Father's,  In  fact  so  universal  is  this  sin,  that  there  are  great 
numbers  of  nominal  Christians  who  have  no  idea,  no  concep- 
tion whatever,  of  the  ground  which  Christianity  takes  in 
regard  to  a  man's  duty.  Christianity  stands  in  fact,  in 
this  respect,  strikingly  distinct  from  every  other  religion. 
Mohammedanism  leaves  men  to  pursue  their  own  objects, — 
to  live  for  themselves, — only  it  prescribes  some  rules  regu- 
lating the  modes  by  which  these  aims  shall  be  pursued. 
So  does  paganism, — so  did  ancient  philosophy, — so  does 
modern  infidelity.  Whatever  moral  rules  all  these  systems 
prescribe,  are  rules  to  regulate  our  pursuits,  while  the  nature 
and  objects  of  them  remain  unchanged.  But  Christianity 
does  no  such  thing.  It  comes  with  far  higher  claims, — it  is 
no  mere  regulator  of  the  machinery  of  human  life.  It  comes 
to  change  the  plan  and  objects  of  that  machinery  alto- 
gether. 

Look  at  the  history  of  a  man  engrossed  in  the  world. 
He  saw  when  he  was  young,  that  wealth  gave  consideration 
and  influence  to  its  possessor,  and  he  felt  a  feverish  sort  of 
pleasure  when  he  received  the  first  hundred  dollars  which  he 
earned.  He  resolved  to  become  rich,  and  in  his  eagerness  to 
go  on,  he  gradually  became  less  and  less  scrupulous  about  the 
means  of  advancing.  He  violated  no  laws  ;  he  exposed  him- 
self to  no  pubUc  disgrace,  but  he  resorted  to  those  means  so 
well  known  to  men  of  the  world,  by  which  he  could  increase 
his  own  stores  at  the  expense  of  the  rights  or  the  happiness  of 
others ;  and  by  these  means  he  has  at  length  acquired  a  for- 
tune. He  usually  attends  public  worship  on  the  Sabbath. 
It  would  be  disreputable  not  to  do  so.  But  in  the  morning 
and  evening,  at  his  own  private  apartment,  he  will  post  his 


d4  the  corner-stone. 


His  character  and  habits.  Seriousness.  He  is  changed. 

books,  or  look  over  his  accounts,  or  plan  his  voyages.  There 
is  nothing  publicly  disreputable  in  this. 

He  is  not  a  profane  man ; — not  at  all,  in  his  own  opinion. 
It  is  true  that  sometimes,  when  excited,  he  will  make  use  of 
what  he  acknowledges  to  be  an  improper  expression,  but  men 
will  make  allowances  for  this.  He  does  not  do  it  to  such  an 
extent  as  to  injure  his  character. 

He  does  not  worship  God  in  his  family.  He  has  no 
objection  to  religious  observances,  but  he  has  no  taste  for 
them  ;  and  then,  besides,  he  has  not  time.  In  order  to  carry 
on  his  plans,  it  is  necessary  for  him  to  go  early  to  his  count- 
ing-room, and  at  night  he  is  fatigued  and  exhausted,  and 
wishes  for  rest.  As  to  the  answer  which  he  shall  make, 
when,  at  last,  God  shall  summon  him  to  account  for  the  im- 
mortal soul  intrusted  to  his  care,  he  never  thinks  of  it.  No. 
He  plans  however  very  wisely  for  the  design  which  he  has  in 
view.  His  object  is  to  make  a  fortune,  and  he  is  taking  a 
most  judicious  and  successful  course  to  accomplish  it.  It  is 
no  part  of  his  design  to  please  God,  or  to  do  good  to  men  ; — 
to  save  his  own  soul,  or  to  prepare  for  a  happy  meeting  with 
his  children  in  heaven.  This  is  not  his  business,  and  of 
course  he  does  not  attend  to  it. 

As,  however,  he  advances  in  life,  he  begins  to  think  some- 
times more  seriously.  His  minister  brings  to  his  view  an 
approaching  judgment,  and  explains  the  strictness  of  God's 
law,  so  that  his  conscience  begins  to  trouble  him.  He 
perceives  that  though  his  mode  of  life  has  been  perfectly 
reputable  among  men,  still  it  must  be  considered  somewhat 
irregular  when  tested  by  the  requirements  of  the  law  of 
God.  His  children  begin  to  be  ungovernable  and  dissipated 
as  they  grow  up,  and  one  of  them  comes,  under  very  melan- 
choly circumstances,  to  an  untimely  end.  He  is  troubled. 
In  short  he  resolves  to  reform.  He  banishes  all  business 
firom  the  Sabbath  except  that  when  the  sermon  does   not 


THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  55 

His  great  business.  His  final  account.  Consequences. 

particularly  interest  him  he  can  not  help  sometimes  thinking 
a  little  of  his  voyages  or  his  sales.  He  becomes  more  scrupu- 
lous about  infringing  upon  his  neighbor's  rights,  or  taking  an 
unfair  advantage  of  their  necessities.  He  establishes  morning 
and  evening  prayers  in  his  family,  and  though  he  does  not 
always  think  of  the  Being  whom  he  is  addressing,  he  always 
regularly  addresses  him,  in  words,  and  there  is  generally  in 
his  mind  at  the  time  a  feeling  of  reverence  and  awe,  and  a 
sort  of  vague  impression  that  he  is  really  speaking  to  the 
Supreme.  He  becomes  a  benevolent  man  too.  That  is, 
when  an  application  is  made  for  charity,  he  gives  as  much 
as  he  thinks  will  be  expected  of  him. 

In  a  word,  there  is  a  great  change  in  his  character.  It  is 
true  he  is  still  pursuing  the  same  great  objects  as  before,  but 
then  Christianity  has  come  in  to  regulate  the  mode  of  his 
pursuing  them.  And  he  goes  on  for  the  rest  of  his  days, 
making  his  fortune  on  much  better  principles,  and  in  much 
better  ways,  than  in  the  early  part  of  his  life.  Still,  making 
his  fortune  is  his  business.  The  ultimate  object  for  which 
he  lives  and  acts  is  to  get  money  into  his  possession.  Every 
thousand  dollars  that  he  obtains,  he  invests  in  the  most  safe 
and  profitable  mode  which  he  can  command,  and  looks  upon 
it  as  so  much  done, — accomplished.  And  when  at  last  he 
comes  to  die,  and  on  his  death-bed  looks  over  his  past  life, 
all  the  satisfaction  that  he  can  have  will  be,  in  reflecting, 
that  though  making  his  fortune  has  been  the  object  of  his 
life,  he  has  neverthless  made  the  last  half  of  it  in  the  most 
unexceptionable  manner. 

Now  is  such  a  man  a  follower  of  Jesus  Christ  ?  Is  mak- 
ing a  fortune  for  himself  his  Father's  business  ?  No  ;  when 
he  appears  before  God  in  judgment,  he  must  expect  to  be 
addressed  thus,  "  Did  you  not  know  that  you  were  stationed 
on  earth  to  do  good  ;  to  turn  men  to  God,  to  set  an  example 
of  devoted  attachment  to  his  cause ;  to  relieve  suffering  and 


56  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Samuel's  business.  How  a  child  may  imitate  tho  Savior. 

promote  human  happiness,  as  the  great  objects  of  your  life  ? 
All  this  was  distinctly  explained  to  you,  and  that  you  might 
perfectly  understand  it,  you  had  the  example  of  Jesus  Christ, 
your  Savior,  who  spent  a  life  on  earth  in  the  most  trying 
circumstances,  for  the  very  purpose  of  showing  how  much  is 
meant  by  the  command  that  men  should  serve  God  while 
they  live,  and  not  themselves.  You  were  distinctly  and 
emphatically  told,  that  you  were  not  your  own,  that  you 
had  been  bought  with  a  price,  and  were  bound  to  live  and 
act  as  a  steward,  an  agent,  a  servant.  But  you  have  not 
done  so.  Instead  of  it,  you  have  taken  possession,  in  your 
own  name,  of  the  means  of  influence  and  of  usefulness,  all  of 
which  were  put  into  your  hands  to  be  used  for  God.  You 
have  had  your  trial,  and  it  has  resulted  in  your  deliberate 
and  final  choice  to  act  for  yourself,  and  not  for  your  Maker. 

Let  us  look  at  another  case.  Samuel  is  a  little  boy,  eight 
years  old.  He  has  really  become  a  Christian,  and  desires 
accordingly  to  do  his  duty,  and  his  whole  duty.  Do  you 
wish  to  know  Samuel  what  it  is  ?  If  you  look  into  the  Bible, 
to  your  Savior,  for  an  example,  you  will  see  that  the  first 
principle  of  action  which  he  announced  was,  that  he  was 
doing  his  Father's  business.  But  you  say  perhaps  that  he 
was  sent  from  heaven  to  do  a  great  work  here,  which  you 
can  not  do.  "  I  can  not  go,"  you  say,  "  from  place  to  place, 
preaching  the  gospel  and  working  miracles,  and  giving  sight 
to  the  blind  and  healing  the  sick.     I  would  do  it  if  I  could." 

It  is  true  you  can  not  do  that.  That  is,  you  can  not  do 
your  Father's  business  in  the  same  way  precisely,  that  Christ 
did  it.  Or,  to  explain  it  more  fully,  God  has  a  great  deal 
of  business  to  be  done  in  this  world,  and  it  is  of  various  kinds, 
and  the  particular  portion  allotted  to  each  person  depends 
upon  the  circumstances  in  which  each  one  is  placed.  You 
can  not  do  exactly  what  Christ  did  while  he  was  here,  but 
you  can  do  what  he  would  have  done  had  he  been  in  your 


THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  57 

The  glory  of  God.  Acting  as  a  steward. 

place.  You  can  not  make  a  blind  man  happy  by  restoring 
his  sight,  but  you  can  make  your  little  sister  happy  by  help- 
ing her  up  kindly  when  she  has  fallen  down ;  and  that  last 
is  your  Father's  business  as  much  as  the  other.  His  business 
here  is  to  make  every  one  happy,  and  to  relieve  every  one's 
suffering.  You  can  not  persuade  great  multitudes  of  men 
to  love  and  obey  God,  as  Christ  endeavored  to  do,  but  you 
may  lead  your  brothers  and  sisters  to  him,  by  your  silent 
influence  and  happy  example.  So  you  can  bear  sufferings 
patiently,  and  take  injuries  meekly,  and  thus  exhibit  the 
character  which  God  desires  that  men  should  everywhere 
see.  The  light  which  you  thus  let  shine  may  be  a  feeble 
light,  and  it  may  illuminate  only  a  narrow  circle  around  you  ; 
but  if  it  is  the  light  of  genuine  piety,  it  will  be  in  fact  the 
glory  of  God ;  and  if  it  is  your  great  object  to  let  this  light 
shine,  you  are  about  your  Father's  business  as  truly  as  Jesus 
was,  when  he  preached  to  the  thronging  multitude,  or 
brought  Lazarus  from  the  tomb.  Yes ;  if  a  little  child  is 
making  it  his  great  aim  to  do  good,  by  making  his  parents, 
his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  his  playmates  happy,  for  the 
sake  of  co-operating  with  God,  he  is  following  the  example 
of  Christ. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  an  observer  to  know  whether  an 
individual  is  acting  for  God  or  for  himself  A  Christian 
merchant,  for  instance,  who  feels  that  he  holds  a  stewardship, 
will  be  as  industrious,  as  enterprising,  and  as  persevering 
in  his  plans  as  any  other  merchant.  Only  he  acts  as  agent, 
while  the  other  acts  as  principal.  So  a  boy  may  be  amiable  and 
gentle  and  kind  without  any  regard  to  God,  or  any  desire  to  carry 
on  his  plans.  But  God  sees  very  clearly  who  is  working  for 
hiTU,  and  who  is  not ;  and  there  is  not  one,  and  there  never  has 
been  one,  in  any  age,  who,  if  he  had  been  inclined  to  enter 
God's  service,  would  not  have  found  enough  to  do  for  him, 
had  he  been  disposed  to  do  it.     The  example  of  Jesus  Christ 


58  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Worldliness.  Love  of  furniture.  Dress. 

in  this  respect  is  an  example  for  all  mankind.  It  is  intended 
for  universal  imitation,  and  they  who  pass  through  life  with- 
out imitating  it,  must  find  themselves  condemned  when  they 
come  to  their  account. 

And  how  strange  it  is,  that  there  should  be  found  so  very 
few  willing  to  do  the  work  of  God  in  this  world.  Even  of 
those  few,  most,  instead  of  entering  into  it  heart  and  soul, 
do  just  enough  to  satisfy  what  they  suppose  to  be  the  expec- 
tations of  their  Christian  brethren.  A  lady  will  spend  her 
life,  engrossed  with  such  objects  of  interest  as  new  furniture, 
and  fashionable  dress,  and  the  means  of  securmg  the  admi- 
ration of  others,  for  herself  or  her  children.  She  thinks  for 
days  and  weeks  of  procuring  some  new  article  of  furniture, 
not  for  comfort  or  convenience,  but  for  show ;  and  when  at 
last  the  long-expected  acquisition  is  made,  she  is  pleased  and 
delighted,  as  if  one  of  the  great  objects  of  her  existence  had 
been  accomplished.  She  spends  hours  in  deciding  upon  the 
color  or  texture  of  a  ribbon,  which  as  soon  as  it  is  chosen 
will  begin  to  fade,  and  after  a  very  brief  period  fall  into 
contempt  and  be  rejected ;  or  she  pursues,  month  after 
month,  and  year  after  year,  what  she  calls  the  pleasures  of 
society,  which  pleasures  are  often  a  compound  of  pride, 
vanity,  envy,  jealousy,  and  ill-will.  Her  husband,  perhaps, 
in  the  mean- time  devotes  himself  to  pursuits  equally  un- 
worthy an  immortal  mind.  They  do  good  occasionally,  as 
opportunities  occur,  and  call  themselves  Christians  ;  but  they 
seem  to  have  no  idea,  that  God  has  any  great  work  in  life 
for  them  to  do. 

Has  he  work  for  them  to  do  ?  Yes  ;  there  is  a  world  to 
be  restored  to  holiness  and  happiness,  and  he  asks  their  help 
in  doing  it.  He  has  put  their  children  almost  completely  in 
their  power,  so  that  the  eternal  happiness  of  these  children 
might  be  almost  certainly  secured,  and  has  given  them  con- 
nections with  society,  of  which  they  might  avail  themselves 


THE    AfAN   CHRIST   JESUS.  59 

rhe  work  of  God.  •      Low  pursuita. 

in  working  most  efficiently  for  him.  If  they  would  take  hold 
of  this  enterprise,  they  would  have  some  elevated  and  enno- 
bling object  before  them.  They  would  see,  one  after  another, 
those  connected  with  them,  returning  to  God.  They  would 
see  their  children  growing  up  in  piety.  Every  night,  they 
would  feel  that  they  had  been  living  during  the  day  for  God  ; 
and  whatever  might  be  their  difficulties  and  trials,  they 
would  be  relieved  from  all  sense  of  responsibility  and  care. 
Instead  of  feeling  gloomy  and  sad,  as  their  children  were 
gradually  separated  from  them,  or  were  one  by  one  removed 
by  death,  and  as  they  themselves  were  gradually  drawing 
toward  the  close  of  life,  they  would  find  their  interest  in  their 
great  business  growing  stronger  and  stronger  as  they  ap- 
proached the  change  which  would  bring  them  more  directly 
into  connection  with  their  Father. 

The  offer,  on  the  part  of  our  Maker,  to  take  us  into  his 
service,  in  this  world,  is  in  fact  the  only  plan  which  can  give 
human  life  any  real  dignity,  or  substantial  value.  Without 
it  all  human  employments  are  insignificant,  all  pleasure  is 
insipid,  and  life  is  a  sterile  waste,  void  of  verdure  or  bloom. 
Without  this,  there  is  an  entire  disproportion  between  the 
lofty  powers  and  capacities  of  human  nature,  and  the  low 
pursuits  and  worthless  objects  which  are  before  it  in  its  pres- 
ent home.  An  immortal  spirit,  capable  of  thoughts  which 
explore  the  universe,  and  of  feelings  and  desires  reaching 
forward  to  eternity,  spending  life  in  seeing  how  many  pieces 
of  stamped  metal  it  can  get  together !  a  mind  made  in  the 
image  of  God,  and  destined  to  live  as  long  as  he,  buried  for 
years  in  thoughts  abont  the  size  and  beauty  of  a  dwelling 
which  is  all  the  time  going  to  decay,  or  about  the  color  and 
fashion  of  dress,  or  the  hues  and  carvings  of  rose-wood  or 
mahogany ! 

But  let  no  one  understand  me  to  condemn  the  enjoyments, 
which  come  to  us  through  the  arts  and  refinements  of  life, 


60  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

The  arts  and  refinements  of  life.  The  Savior's  character. 

It  is  making  these  things  the  great  object  of  existence, — it  is 
the  eager  pursuit  of  them,  as  the  chief  business  of  life,  which 
the  example  of  our  Savior  and  the  principles  of  the  gospel 
condemn.  These  arts  and  refinements  are  intended  to  add 
to  human  happiness.  They  will  make  the  most  rapid  pro- 
gress in  those  countries  where  Christianity  most  perfectly 
prevails.  Jesus  Christ  had  a  love  for  beauty,  both  of  nature 
and  art ;  he  admired  the  magnificent  architecture  of  the 
temple,  and  deeply  lamented  the  necessity  -of  its  overthrow, 
and  his  diess  was  at  least  of  such  a  character,  that  the  dis- 
posal of  it  was  a  subject  of  importance  to  the  well-paid  sol- 
diers who  crucified  him.  Yes,  the  universal  reign  of  Chris- 
tianity will  be  the  reign  of  taste,  and  refinement,  and  the 
arts ;  but  while  the  enjoyments  of  men  will  be  increased  in 
a  tenfold  degree  from  these  and  other  sources,  their  hearts 
will  be  set  far  less  on  them,  than  they  are  now.  These  en- 
joyments will  be  recreations  by  the  way,  to  cheer  and  refresh 
those  whose  hearts  are  mainly  bent  on  accomplishing  the  ob- 
jects of  their  Father  in  Heaven. 

I  have  dwelt  longer,  perhaps,  on  this  subject  than  I  ought 
to  have  done.  This  book,  though  its  subject  is  Christian 
truth,  is  intended  to  throw  as  strong  a  light  as  possible  on 
Christian  duty,  and  in  considering  this,  the  first  great  trait  of 
our  Savior's  character  which  presents  itself  to  view,  I  could 
not  avoid  asking  my  reader  to  pause  a  moment  to  consider 
what  he  himself  is  really  living  for. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  example  of  our  Savior. 

Jesus  Christ  was  in  some  respects  the  most  bold,  energetic, 
decided,  and  courageous  man  that  ever  lived ;  but  in  others, 
he  was  the  most  flexible,  submissive,  and  yielding  ;  and  in 
the  conceptions  which  many  persons  form  of  his  character, 
there  is  a  degree  of  indistinctness  and  confusion,  from  want 
of  clear  ideas  of  the  mode  in  which  these  seemingly  opposite 


THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS.  6l 

Energy.  Mildness  and  forbearance. 

qualities  come  together.  The  explanation  is  this.  The 
question,  which  of  these  two  classes  of  qualities  he  would  ex- 
hibit, depended  entirely  upon  the  question,  whether  it  was  his 
own  personal  welfare  or  his  Father's  business,  which  was  at 
stake.  If  it  was  the  latter,  he  feared  no  danger,  he  shrunk 
from  no  opposition,  and  no  obstacle  or  difficulty  would  turn 
him  from  his  course.  If  it  was  the  former,  his  own  personal 
welfare,  he  was  exactly  the  reverse, — mild,  gentle,  and  yield- 
ing, to  the  last  degree.  There  never  was  a  mission  or  enter- 
prise of  any  kind  conducted  with  a  more  bold,  energetic, 
and  fearless  spirit,  than  the  Savior's  mission  ;  and  on  the 
other  hand,  there  never  was  a  case  where  personal  sacrifices 
and  injuries  were  borne  with  so  much  indifference  and  un- 
concern. Observe  how  he  reproved  the  insincere  and  dis- 
honest pretenders  to  religion,  which  filled  Judea  in  those 
days.  He  followed  them  into  crowds,  he  met  them  face  to 
face,  and  in  the  most  direct  and  personal  manner  spread  out 
their  insincerity  and  hypocrisy  before  them.  In  the  midst 
of  Jerusalem,  the  very  heart  and  center  of  their  influence,  he 
brought  forward  his  accusations  against  them,  with  a  power 
and  severity  which  human  eloquence  has  very  seldom  equaled 
This  was  in  the  cause  of  his  Father.  But  when  ends  merely 
personal  to  himself  were  concerned,  how  changed.  Peter's 
most  unmanly  and  ungrateful  denial  was  reproved  by  a  look  I 
And  Judas,  coming  at  midnight  with  armed  men,  to  seize 
him  by  the  basest  treachery,  was  called  to  a  sense  of  his 
guilt  by  the  mildest,  the  very  gentlest  reproof  which  lan- 
guage could  frame.  So  when  the  profanation  of  his  Father's 
temple  was  to  be  stopped,  Jesus  Christ  could  use  a  scourge, 
and  effect  a  forcible  ejectment  with  almost  military  authority  ; 
and  yet  when,  as  was  shown  afterward  in  the  judgment  hall, 
there  was  nothing  to  excite  him  but  his  own  personal  in- 
juries, he  was  meek  and  gentle  as  a  lamb.     He  was  equally 


62  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

His  story  of  the  Samaritan.  His  rejection  at  Samaria.  Plans. 

ready  to  use  the  scourge,  in  the  cause  of  God,  and  to  submit 
to  it  in  his  own. 

And  this  principle  is  the  key  to  his  whole  conduct.  Many 
anecdotes  might  be  given  to  illustrate  it.  One  day,  for  ex- 
ample, when  speaking  in  the  midst  of  Priests  and  Levites,  in 
the  very  seat  of  their  power,  he  related  to  them  the  story  of 
the  good  Samaritan.  Nothing  could  be  more  keenly  cutting 
or  more  bold  than  this.  They  hated  the  Samaritans,  because 
they  would  not  come  to  Jerusalem  to  worship,  and  they 
were  proud  of  their  own  piety,  because  their  worship  was  of- 
fered in  the  right  place  !  Jesus  did  not  enter  into  any  labored 
argument  with  them,  to  show  that  piety  was  a  feeling  of  the 
heart,  and  not  a  business  of  geographical  location  ;  he  simply 
related  the  story  — cutting  as  it  did,  exactly  across  their  bit- 
terest prejudices, — ^they  would  not  even  have  any  dealings 
with  the  Samaritans  ! 

Some  time  afterward,  he  came  in  contact  with  the  same 
feeling,  that  is,  the  religious  rivalry  between  the  Jews  and 
the  Samaritans,  again,  though  in  a  different  way.  He  was 
traveling  with  his  disciples,  and  on  arriving  at  Samaria, 
they  would  not  receive  him  because  he  was  going  to  Jeru- 
salem.  Here  the  prejudice  between  the  rival  sects  only  in- 
jured him,  personally ;  and  he  thought  nothing  about  it. 
His  disciples  were  angry,  but  he  quieted  them  at  once,  and 
went  on.  Thus  it  always  was  with  him.  Yielding,  submis- 
sive, and  patient  in  regard  to  his  own  personal  injuries  and 
sufferings,  but  firm,  inflexible,  and  courageous  in  the  ex- 
treme, in  resisting  every  injury  to  the  cause  committed  to 
his  care. 

There  is  something  very  bold  and  energetic  in  the  meas- 
ures which  he  adopted  in  accomplishing  his  work.  The 
great  business  which  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  effect  before 
his  crucifixion,  was,  to  publish  effectually  throughout  Judea, 
his  coming,  and  the  principles  of  his  gospel, — and  to  exhibit. 


THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS.  63 

Bold  and  systematic  action.  His  personal  boldness. 

as  publicly  as  possible,  the  miraculous  evidences  of  his  mis- 
sion. He  accomplished  these  objects  in  the  most  effectual 
manner,  in  about  three  years.  In  fact,  there  perhaps  never 
was  a  case  in  which  so  great  a  moral  effect  was  produced  in 
three  years,  on  any  so  extensive  a  community,  if  we  consider 
at  all  the  disadvantages  incident  to  the  customs  of  those  days. 
There  was  no  press  ;  there  were  no  modes  of  extensive  writ- 
ten communication,  no  regularly  organized  channels  of  inter- 
course whatever,  between  the  different  portions  of  the  com- 
munity. Jesus  Christ  acted  under  every  disadvantage,  and 
he  availed  himself  of  no  miraculous  modes  of  disseminating 
his  principles ;  but  yet,  so  skillfully  did  he  plan,  and  with 
such  promptness  and  energy  did  he  execute,  that  in  a  very 
short  period  the  work  was  done. 

What  were  these  plans  ?  In  the  first  place  he  went  him- 
self, directly  and  boldly,  into  every  center  of  influence  and 
population  that  he  could  find,  to  proclaim  his  new  princi- 
ples of  religious  truth  and  duty.  When  Jerusalem  was 
crowded  with  the  multitudes  which  came  together  at  the 
Passover,  he  was  always  there,  in  public  and  conspicuous 
places,  exposing  in  the  most  explicit  and  direct  manner,  the 
sins  of  the  times,  and  exhibiting  the  principles  of  true  religion, 
with  a  distinctness,  and  vividness,  and  beauty,  which  have 
never  been  equalled.  At  other  times,  he  was  traveling  from 
place  to  place,  through  fertile  and  populous  provinces,  visit- 
ing the  larger  villages  and  towns,  and  gathering  great  multi- 
tudes around  him  in  the  open  country.  And  yet  though  he 
was,  in  his  business,  thus  bold  and  enterprising,  he  was  in  feel- 
ing, as  we  shall  see  more  distinctly  in  the  sequel,  of  a  quiet  and 
retiring  spirit.  He  always  withdrew  at  once  from  the  crowd 
when  his  work  was  done.  He  sought  solitude,  he  shrunk 
from  observation ;  in  fact  almost  the  only  enjoyment  which 
he  seemed  really  to  love,  was  his  lonely  ramble  at  midnight,for 
rest  and  prayer.    He  spent  whole  nights  thus,  we  are  told.    It 


64 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Nights  of  prayer. 


Style  of  speaking. 


SOLITUDE. 


is  not  surprising,  that 
after  the  heated  crowds 
and  exhausting  labors 
of  the  day,  he  should 
love  to  retire  to  silence 
and  seclusion,  to  enjoy 
the  cool  and  balmy  air, 
the  refreshing  stillness, 
and  all  the  beauties 
and  glories  of  mid- 
night, among  the  soli- 
tudes of  the  Galilean 
hills  —  to  find  there 
happy  communion  with 
his  Father,  and  to  ga- 
ther fresh  strength  for 
the  labors  and  trials 
that  yet  remained. 

Another  thing  which  exhibits  the  boldness  and  enterprise, 
that  characterized  his  plans  for  making  an  impression  on  the 
community,  was  the  peculiarly  new  and  original  style  of 
public  speaking  that  he  adopted.  It  was  sententious,  brief, 
antithetic.  Every  sentence  was  loaded  with  meaning,  and 
was  yet  so  concisely  and  energetically  expressed,  that  the 
sentiment  could  neither  be  misunderstood  nor  forgotten.  "If 
worldly  pleasure  allures  you  away  from  duty,"  a  more  timid 
and  cautious  speaker  would  have  said,  "  you  must  relinquish 
it.  Think  how  much  more  important  your  salvation  is  than 
any  temporal  gratification."  "  If  your  right  hand  ofiend 
you,"  says  Christ,  "  cut  it  off.  If  your  right  eye  offend 
you,  PLUCK  IT  OUT.  It  will  be  better  for  you  to  enter  into 
life  with  one  eye,  than  to  be  cast  into  hell-fire  with  two." 

The  delivery  of  the  sermon  on  the  mount  is,  probably,  the 
most  striking  example  of  moral  courage  which  the  world  has 


THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  65 

Sermon  on  the  mount.  The  assembly. 

ever  seen.  There  are  two  circumstances,  which  render  the 
occasion  on  which  it  was  dehvered,  extraordinary.  First,  it 
was  a  very  public  occasion.  A  vast  multitude  from  almost 
every  part  of  the  country  were  assembled.  Judea,  the 
southern  province,  and  Galilee,  the  northern,  were  repre- 
sented ;  so  were  the  eastern  and  western  shores  of  the  river 
Jordan,  and  many  distant  cities  and  towns.  From  all  this 
wide  extent  of  country,  a  vast  multitude,  attracted  by  the 
fame  of  the  Savior's  miracles,  had  assembled  to  hear  what 
this  professed  messenger  from  heaven  had  to  say.  Again,  it 
was  probably,  though  not  certainly,  a  very  early  occasion. 
Perhaps  the  first  on  which  the  great  principles  of  the  gospel 
were  to  be  announced  to  men.  By  this  discourse,  contain- 
ing, as  it  does,  so  plain  and  specific  an  exposition  of  the  false 
notions  of  religion  then  prevailing,  the  Savior  must  have 
known  that  he  was  laying  the  foundation  of  that  enmity  to 
him  which  would  end  in  h^s  destruction.  But  he  did  not 
shrink  from  his  duty,  or  conceal  or  cover  over  one  single  ob- 
noxious feature  of  the  truth.  He  knew  that  the  report  of 
that  meeting  must  be  spread  to  every  part  of  the  country. 
As  he  looked  around  upon  his  auditory,  he  must  have  seen, 
here,  one  from  a  Galilean  village,  there,  another  from  be- 
yond the  Jordan,  and  again  a  third  who  would  carry  his  re- 
port to  distant  Jerusalem  ;  and  yet,  though  he  was  thus  com- 
pletely exposed,  instead  of  attempting  to  soften  or  conceal 
what  might  be  expected  to  be  displeasing  to  his  auditors,  he 
brought  out  all  the  distinctive  features  of  prevailing  error  in 
the  most  open  manner,  and  contrasted  them  with  the  pure 
principles  of  his  spiritual  religion,  with  a  plainness  and  a 
point,  which  was  exactly  calculated  to  fix  them  in  memory, 
and  to  circulate  them  most  widely  throughout  the  land. 

It  was  always  so.  The  plainness,  the  point,  the  undaunted 
boldness,  with  which  he  exposed  hypocrisy  and  sin,  and  the 
clear  simplicity  with  which  he  held  up  to  view  the  principles 


66  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


His  missionaries.  Results.  Key  to  his  character. 

of  real  piety,  have  no  parallel.  And  yet  he  knew  perfectly 
well,  that  in  direct  consequence  of  these  things,  a  dark  storm 
was  gathering,  which  must  in  the  end  hurst  in  all  its  fury 
upon  his  unsheltered  head. 

The  enterprising  and  determined  spirit,  with  which  Christ 
entered  into  his  work,  was  not  satisfied  with  his  own  personal 
exertions.  He  formed  the  extraordinary  plan  of  sending  out 
simultaneously  a  numher  of  his  most  cordial  friends  and  fol- 
lowers, to  assist  in  making  the  most  extensive  and  powerful 
impression  possihle  upon  the  community.  At  first  he  sent 
twelve,  then  seventy,  who  went  everywhere,  presenting  to 
men  the  simple  duties  of  repentance  for  the  past,  and  of  pure 
and  holy  living  for  the  future.  There  could  not  have  heen 
measures  more  admirably  adapted  to  accomplish  the  work 
which  he  had  to  do  of  promulgating  everywhere  throughout 
Judea  the  gospel  which  he  came  to  announce  to  men.  These 
measures  succeeded.  In  two  or  three  years  the  work  was 
done.  And  every  Christian,  who  has  to  work  for  his  Master 
here,  should  learn  a  lesson  from  the  enterprise,  the  system, 
and  the  energy,  which  Jesus  Christ  exhibited  in  doing 
his. 

This  then  is  the  key  to  the  character  of  Jesus  Christ  in  re- 
spect to  spirit  and  decision.  These  qualities  shine  out  in  him 
with  unequaled  luster,  whenever  there  was  any  duty  to  be 
done  ;  but  the  most  mild  and  patient  and  humble  subiAission 
take  their  place,  when  there  is  personal  injury  and  suffering 
to  be  endured.  In  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  and  on  any  ques- 
tions which  concerned  the  character  of  God,  or  the  duty  of 
man,  we  find  him  with  all  his  faculties  aroused,  silencing 
every  opponent  by  his  unanswerable  arguments,  or  by  appeals 
of  irresistible  eloquence  and  power.  But  when  the^e  subjects 
fail,  all  the  energy  of  attack  or  defense  on  his  part  gives  way 
with  them,  and  before  his  personal  enemies,  planning  only 
personal  injury  to  him,  he  stands  silent,  patient,  and  submis- 


THE   MAN   CHRIST   JESUS.  67 


The  night  in  the  garden.  SuflFerlng. 

sive,  leaving  the  whole  torrrent  of  injury  to  take  its  course, 
meeting  it  with  no  resistance  and  returning  no  reply. 

The  histoiy  of  the  world  can  scarcely  exhibit  an  act  of 
higher,  nobler  courage,  than  our  Savior  performed,  in  coming 
down  to  meet  Judas  and  the  armed  band,  the  night  before 
he  was  crucified.  Just  imagine  the  scene.  On  the  eastern 
side  of  Jerusalem,  without  the  walls,  there  is  a  sudden  de- 
scent to  a  stream,  which  flows  through  the  valley.  Across 
this  stream,  on  the  rising  ground  beyond,  was  a  quiet  and 
solitary  place,  where  Jesus  very  often  went  for  retirement 
and  prayer.  He  understood  very  well  his  approaching  tor- 
ture and  crucifixion  ;  he  had  taken,  the  evening  before,  his 
last  sad  farewell  of  his  disciples,  and  with  the  day  of  agony 
and  death  before  him  on  the  morrow,  he  could  not  sleep.  It 
was  a  cold  night,  but  a  sheltered  dwelling  in  the  city  was 
not  the  place  for  him.  He  asked  his  three  dearest  friends  to 
go  with  him,  that  he  might  once  more  cross  the  valley,  and 
for  the  last  time  take  his  midnight  walk  upon  the  Mount  of 
Olives.  Oppressed  with  anxiety  and  sorrow  he  fell  down 
there  alone  before  God  and  prayed  that  he  might  be  spared 
what  was  to  come.  He  had  gone  on  firmly  thus  far,  but 
now  his  heart  almost  failed  him.  Six  long  hours  of  inde- 
scribable agony  seemed  too  much  for  the  frail  human  powers 
which  must  necessarily  bear  the  whole.  He  prayed  God  to 
spare  him  if  it  could  he  possible. 

But  it  could  not.  His  strength  failed  under  the  exhaus- 
tion produced  by  his  mental  sufferings,  and  by  the  more  than 
death-like  perspiration,  which  the  night  air,  so  cold  at  this 
season  that  even  the  hardy  soldiers  needed  fire,  could  not 
chill.  Mysterious  help  from  heaven  restored  him  a  little, 
but  though  refreshed  by  heavenly  sympathy,  we  must  re- 
member that  it  was  human  powers  alone  that  had  this  trial 
to  bear. 

At  -last  there  is  heard  through  the  trees,  at  a  distance 


68  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Lighta  and  weapons  and  armed  men.  Real  courage. 

down  the  valley,  the  sound  of  approaching  voices.  Lights 
are  seen  too ; — and  now  and  then  a  glittering  weapon. 
They  are  coming  for  him.  Fly !  innocent  sufferer,  fly ! 
Turn  to  the  dark  solitudes  behind  you,  and  escape  for  your 
life  ! — No.  The  struggle  is  over.  The  Savior,  collected  and 
composed,  rises  and  walks  on  to  meet  the  very  swords  and 
spears  sent  out  against  him !  We  must  remember,  that  in 
this  gloomy  hour  there  was  no  one  to  encourage  him,  no  one 
to  defend  him,  or  to  share  his  fate.  It  was  in  the  darkness 
and  stillness  of  night,  the  very  hour  of  fear  and  dread  ;  and 
the  approach  of  those  whose  dim  forms  and  suppressed  voices 
arrested  his  attention,  was  the  signal  not  of  danger,  but  of 
death, — nor  of  death  merely,  but  of  protracted  and  unuttera- 
ble torture.  Still  he  arose  and  went  forth  to  meet  them. 
"Whom  seek  ye?"  said  he, — "lam  he."  We  have  read 
this  story  so  often,  that  it  has  lost  its  impression  upon  us  ; 
but  could  we  come  to  it  afresh,  and  really  appreciate  the 
gloomy,  dreadful  circumstances  of  the  scene,  we  should  feel 
that  the  deserted  Savior,  in  coming  down  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, to  meet  the  torches  and  the  weapons,  which 
were  to  light  and  guard  him  back  to  such  enemies  and  to 
such  a  death,  exhibits  the  loftiest  example  of  fortitude  which 
the  world  has  ever  seen.  There  was  less  noise,  less  parade, 
less  display  than  at  Thermopylae  or  Trafalgar ;  but  for  the 
real  sublimity  of  courage,  the  spectacle  of  this  solitary  and 
defenseless  sufferer,  coming  at  midnight  to  meet  the  betrayer 
and  his  band,  beams  with  a  moral  splendor  which  never 
shone  on  earth  before,  and  will  probably  never  shine  again. 

We  have  thus  far  considered  the  great  leading  principles 
of  our  Savior's  public  conduct.  As  we  have  presented  them 
they  are  three. 

1.  Entire  devotedness  to  his  Father's  work. 

2.  Energy,  system,  and  undaunted  courage,  in  prosecut- 
ing it. 


THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  69 

Three  great  traits.  Love  of  nature.  Kirke  White. 

3.  The  mildest,  most  unresisting  and  forgiving  spirit  in 
regard  to  his  own  personal  wrongs. 

We  might  close  our  view  of  his  character  with  these  lead- 
ing principles  of  it,  but  there  are  some  other  traits  of  a  more 
private  nature,  which  it  is  pleasant  to  notice.  We  shall 
mention  them  as  they  occur. 

1.  Jesus  Christ  evidently  observed  and  enjoyed  nature. 
There  are  many  allusions  in  his  history  to  his  solitary  walks 
in  the  fields  and  on  the  mountains,  and  by  the  sea-side  ;  but 
the  greatest  evidence  of  his  love  for  nature  is  to  be  seen  in 
the  manner  in  which  he  alludes  to  its  beauties.  A  speaker's 
metaphors  are  drawn  from  the  sources  with  which  he  is 
most  familiar,  or  which  interest  him  most ;  so  that  we  can 
judge  very  correctly  what  the  habitual  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  a  writer  are,  by  observing  what  images  arise  to  his  mind, 
when  he  is  interested  in  writing  or  conversation.  We  take 
down  a  volume  of  poetry,  for  an  illustration  of  this  remark, 
and  open,  almost  at  random,  to  the  following  lines  by  Henry 
Kirke  White. 


"  God  keep  thee,  Traveler,  on  thy  journey  far ; 

The  wind  is  bitter  keen — the  snow  o'erlays 
The  hidden  pits  and  dangerous  hollow  ways, 
And  darkness  will  involve  thee.     No  kind  star 
To-night  will  guide  thee,  Traveler, — and  the  war 

Of  winds  and  elements  on  thy  head  will  break, 

And  in  thy  agonizing  ear,  the  shriek 
Of  spirits  on  their  stormy  car, 
Will  often  ring  appalling — I  portend 

A  dismal  night, — and  on  my  wakeful  bed, 

Thoughts,  Traveler,  of  thee,  will  fill  my  head, 
And  him,  who  rides  where  winds  and  waves  contend 
And  strives,  rude  cradled  on  the  seas,  to  guide 
His  lonely  bark  on  the  tempestuous  tide." 


70  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  Savior's  metaphors.  The  lily. 

Now  such  a  passage 
as  this  admits  us  very 
far  into  the  author's 
habits  of  thought  and 
feeUng.  No  man  could 
have  written  it  unless 
he  had  often  felt  the 
suhlimity  of  the  mid- 
night storm,  and  sym- 
pathized strongly  with 
the  anxieties  and  dan- 
gers of  the  lonely  trav- 
eler. He  must  have 
been  himself  a  witness 
of  such  a  scene,  and 
experienced    the  emo- 

THE  WINTER   NIGHT.  ^  ^ 

tions  which  it  excites, 
or  he  could  not  have  painted  them  so  vividly. 

We  learn  in  the  same  manner  how  distinct  were  the  im- 
pressions of  beauty  or  subUmity  which  the  works  of  nature 
made  upon  the  Savior  by  the  manner  in  which  he  alluded 
to  them.  Take  for  instance,  the  case  where  he  speaks  of  the 
decoration  of  the  lilies.  What  a  conception  !  We  are  so 
familiar  with  it,  that  it  loses  its  impression  upon  us,  but  if 
we  could  approach  it  anew  we  should  be  astonished  at  its 
boldness  and  beauty.  He  is  endeavoring  to  persuade  his 
disciples  not  to  be  anxious  about  their  food  or  clothing,  for 
if  they  will  do  God's  will,  he  will  take  care  of  them.  "  Look 
at  the  lilies  of  the  field,"  says  he,  "  they  toil  not,  neither  do 
they  spin,  and  yet  I  say  unto  you,  that  even  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory,  was  not  arrayed  Hke  one  of  these."  A  cold,  heart- 
less man,  without  taste  or  sensibility,  would  not  have  con- 
ceived such  a  thought  as  that.  He  could  not ;  and  we  may 
be  as  sure  that  Jesus  Christ  had  stopped  to  examine  and 


THE    MAN   CHRIST    JESUS.  71 

Insensibility  of  men.  The  garden.  Its  wonders. 

admire  the  grace  and  beauty  of  the  lily,  and  the  exquisitely 
penciled  tints  of  its  petal,  as  if  we  had  actually  seen  him 
bending  over  it,  or  pointing  it  out  to  the  attention  of  his 
disciples. 

The  mass  of  mankind  never  notice  the  beauties  and  won- 
ders that  are  always  around  them.  Among  hundreds  walk- 
ing in  a  garden,  it  is  only  a  very  few,  who  would  perceive 
the  objects  of  astonishment  and  delight  which  abound  there. 
Here  are  several  shrubs  side  by  side.  They  grow  from  the 
same  earth,  are  warmed  by  the  same  sun,  and  refreshed  by 
the  same  showers ;  and  yet  the  very  same  juices  coming  up 
one  stem,  arrange  themselves  into  a  currant  at  the  top, — 
coming  up  another  they  form  themselves  into  a  pear,  and  in 
the  third  case,  into  a  rose.  The  real  lover  of  nature  pauses 
to  reflect,  as  he  sees  these  various  fruits  and  flowers,  how 
strange  it  is,  that  a  mechanism  so  exquisite  can  be  arranged 
in  those  stems,  so  as  to  bring  such  astonishing  and  such 
different  results  from  one  common  storehouse  of  materials. 
The  multitude  do  not  think  of  it  at  all.  They  consider  it  as 
a  matter  of  course,  that  figs  should  grow  upon  the  fig-trees 
and  grapes  upon  the  vine,  and  that  is  all  they  think  about  it. 

Here  is  a  little  seed  too.  It  seems  to  the  eye,  lifeless  and 
inorganic ;  indistinguishable  from  a  useless  grain  of  sand. 
But  what  a  complicated  system  is  safely  packed  within  its 
covering.  Put  it  into  the  ground,  and  in  a  few  months  re- 
turn to  the  spot,  and  you  find  a  little  tree  growing  there, 
covered  with  leaves  and  flowers,  and  giving  to  many  birds? 
and  insects  a  shelter  and  a  home.  » 

Now  Jesus  Christ  noticed  these  things.  He  perceived 
their  beauty  and  enjoyed  it.  His  heart  was  full  of  images 
which  such  observations  must  have  furnished.  He  could  not 
otherwise  have  so  beautifully  compared  the  progress  of  his 
kingdom  to  the  growth  of  such  a  tree.  He  could  not  have 
related  the  parable  of  the  sower,  if  he  had  not  noticed  with 


72  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  Savior's  mode  of  addressing  men.  Moral  sympathy.  Reasoning. 


interest  the  minutest  circumstances  connected  with  the  cul- 
ture of  the  ground.  His  beautiful  allusions  to  the  vine  and 
to  the  fig-tree,  the  wheat  and  the  tares,  the  birds  of  the  air, 
and  the  flocks  of  the  field,  all  prove  the  same  thing.  It  is 
not  merely  that  he  spoke  of  those  things,  but  that  he  alluded 
to  them  in  a  way  so  beautiful,  and  touching,  and  original, 
as  to  prove,  that  he  had  an  observing  eye  and  a  warm  heart 
for  the  beauties  and  glories  of  creation. 

2.  There  is  similar  evidence  that  he  noticed,  with  the 
same  observing  eye  and  intelligent  interest,  the  principles 
and  characteristics  of  human  nature.  Take  for  example, 
his  story  of  the  father's  welcoming  his  returning  prodigal, — 
the  woman  seeking  the  lost  money, — ^the  steward  making 
friends  with  his  master's  debtors,  and  the  pardoned  sinner 
loving  much  because  much  had  been  forgiven.  He  observed 
every  thing ;  and  his  imagination  was  stored  with  an  inex- 
haustible supply  of  images,  drawn  from  every  source ;  and 
with  these  he  illustrated  and  enforced  his  principles  in  a 
manner  altogether  unparalleled  by  any  other  writings,  sacred 
or  profane. 

3.  In  exerting  an  influence  over  man,  he  endeavored  to 
awaken  the  moral  sympathies,  rather  than  produce  cold  con- 
viction through  the  intellect.  In  regard  to  almost  all  impor- 
tant moral  and  religious  truth,  there  is  a  witness  within 
every  man's  heart,  and  it  was  the  aim  of  our  Savior  to 
awaken  this  witness  and  to  encourage  it  to  speak.  Other 
men  attempt  to  do  every  thing  by  reasoning, — cold,  naked 
reasoning ;  which,  after  all,  it  may  be  almost  said,  is  the 
most  absolutely  inefficient  means  which  can  be  applied,  for 
the  production  of  any  moral  effects  upon  men. 

Christ  very  seldom  attempted  to  prove  what  he  said.  He 
expressed  and  illustrated  truth,  and  then  left  it  to  work  its 
own  way.  Sometimes  he  argued,  but  then  it  was  almost 
always  in  self-defense.     When  at  liberty  to  choose  his  own 


THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  73 

He  loved  his  friends.  He  loved  hia  mother. 

mode,  as  for  example  in  the  sermon  on  the  mount,  he  said 
such  things  as  commended  themselves  to  every  man's  con- 
science, and  their  power  consisted  in  the  clearness  and  em- 
phasis with  which  he  said  them.  If  he  reasoned  at  all,  the 
distance  was  very  short  between  his  premises  and  his  con- 
clusion, and  his  steps  very  simple  and  few. 

4.  Jesus  loved  his  friends.  The  duty  of  universal  benevo- 
lence, which  he  so  strongly  enforced,  he  never  meant  should 
supersede  the  claims  of  private,  personal  friendship,  or  inter- 
fere with  its  enjoyments.  He  himself,  while  he  was  ready 
to  die  for  thousands,  preferred  to  take  his  walks,  and  share 
his  griefs,  with  Peter,  James,  and  John.  There  is  nothing 
more  touching,  in  regard  to  this  subject,  than  the  manner  in 
which  he  made  a  private  intimation  at  the  last  supper,  to  his 
dearest  personal  friend,  of  the  fact  that  it  was  Judas  who 
was  to  betray  him.  He  understood  and  felt  the  happiness  of 
communion  and  confidence  between  kindred  spirits,  and  by 
his  example  has  authorized  us  to  link  ourselves  to  one  an- 
other by  the  ties  of  friendship  and  affection,  as  strongly  as 
we  please.  Christianity,  in  expanding  the  affections  of  the 
individual  till  they  reach  every  brother  and  sister  on  the 
globe,  does  not  weaken  or  endanger  a  single  private  or  do- 
mestic tie.  While  it  draws  the  whole  human  family  to- 
gether, it  links,  by  a  still  closer  union  than  before,  the  hus- 
band with  the  wife,  and  the  parent  with  the  child, — sister 
to  sister,  and  friend  to  friend. 

5.  The  last  thing  that  I  have  to  say  about  the  character 
of  Jesus  Christ  is,  he  loved  his  mother.  Perhaps  I  have 
some  young  readers,  who  can  remember  that  at  some  recent 
period,  when  they  have  been  sick  or  suffering  from  any 
cause,  they  have,  by  their  fretfulness  or  discontent,  brought 
trouble  and  care  to  their  parents,  and  have  considered  them- 
selves excused  for  it  by  the  circumstances  in  which  they 
have  been  placed.     To  them  I  have  one  thing  to  say.     Your 

D 


74  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Proof.  Filial  affection. 

Savior  was  nailed  to  the  cross.  The  whole  weight  of  his 
body  was  suspended  from  his  lacerated  limbs,  and  here  he 
had  to  hang  hour  after  hour  till  life  actually  sunk  under  the 
power  of  suffering.  But  even  here  he  did  not  forget  his 
mother.  He  gave,  in  the  most  touching  manner  possible,  his 
dearest  friend  a  charge  to  be  kind  to  her,  to  protect  her,  to 
take  care  of  her  as  long  as  she  should  live.  He  did  this, 
however,  almost  by  a  word,  for  under  such  circumstances  it 
was  torture  to  speak.  He  called  the  disciple  to  him,  and 
pointing  to  Mary,  he  said,  "  Behold  thy  mother."  That 
was  all ;  but  it  was  enough.  The  disciple  took  the  bereaved 
mother,  thus  committed  to  his  care,  to  his  own  home.  Now 
let  me  say  to  each  one  of  my  readers,  whether  old  or  young, 
who  has  a  mother  still  in  life,  as  you  shut  this  book  at  the 
close  of  this  chapter,  go  and  devise  some  act  of  kindness  and 
affection  for  her,  in  imitation  of  the  dying  example  which 
the  Savior  set  us.  Do  something  to  cheer  and  comfort  her  ; 
even  if  it  is  no  very  substantial  act  of  kindness,  it  will  bring 
gladness  to  her  heart,  as  a  memorial  of  your  remembrance 
and  affection.  Mary  must  have  felt  the  proof  of  love  which 
Jesus  evinced  for  her  upon  the  cross,  most  deeply.  They 
told  the  Savior,  long  before,  that  his  mother  was  to  be  en- 
vied. She  must  have  endured  a  great  deal  of  solicitude  and 
a  great  deal  of  suffering,  during  her  life  ;  but  it  must  have 
gone  far  toward  counterbalancing  it  all,  to  be  remembered 
thus,  under  such  circumstances,  by  such  a  son. 


HUMAN   DUTY.  75 


A  diflference  between  the  gospels  and  the  epistles. 


CHAPTER   III. 

HUMAN   DUTY,    OR    THE    SAVIOR's   MESSAGE    TO    MANKIND. 
"  And  they  went  out  and  preached  that  men  should  repent." 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  and  one  which  has  often  surprised 
careful  readers  of  the  Bible,  that  scarcely  any  thing  is  said 
by  our  Savior  himself,  in  regard  to  his  own  sufferings,  as  the 
ground  of  human  salvation,  while  the  writings  and  addresses 
of  the  apostles  are  full  of  this  theme.  There  is  a  most  ex- 
traordinary contrast,  in  this  respect,  between  the  gospels  and 
the  epistles.  In  the  former,  Christ's  sufferings  and  death 
are  scarcely  ever  spoken  of,  in  the  latter,  nothing  is  spoken 
of  so  much.  This  state  of  the  case  has,  on  the  one  hand, 
led  many  persons  to  underrate  the  influence  and  importance 
of  our  Savior's  sufferings  and  death,  and  they  defend  their 
views  by  referring  to  the  nature  of  our  Savior's  instructions. 
Others  err  on  the  other  side,  by  taking  the  epistles  as  their 
only  model, — ^not  sufficiently  considering  the  character  of 
Christ's  instructions.  Others  are  embarrassed  when  they 
think  on  this  subject ;  they  do  not  know  how  to  reconcile 
the  seeming  inconsistency,  though  they  endeavor  to  diminish 
it,  as  far  as  possible,  by  exaggerating  and  emphasizing  the 
little  which  Jesus  Christ  did  say,  in  regard  to  his  sufferings 
and  death.  We  ought  always  to  suspect  ourselves  when  we 
are  attempting  to  get  out  of  Scriptural  difficulties  in  this 
way  ; — ^by  loading  passages  of  Scripture  with  more  meaning 
than  they  will  naturally  bear  ;  a  process  very  common  among 


76  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Wrong  way  to  read  the  Bible.  Right  way.  The  school-house. 

theological  writers.  The  best  way  is  to  allow  the  Bible  to 
speak  for  itself.  We  must  not  attempt  to  improve  it,  but 
just  let  it  tell  its  own  story,  in  its  own  way.  The  man  who, 
when  he  reads  some  of  the  strong,  decided  passages  in  the 
Epistles,  ascribing  all  hope  of  human  salvation  to  the  atoning 
sacrifice  of  the  Son  of  God,  finds  himself  holding  back  from 
the  writer's  view,  endeavoring  to  qualify  the  language  or  to 
explain  it  away,  is  not  studying  the  Bible  in  the  right  spirit. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  who  can  not  take  the  directions  which 
Christ  or  John  gave,  for  beginning  a  life  of  piety  by  simple 
repentance  for  the  past,  without  adding  something  from  his 
own  theological  stores,  or  forcing  the  language  to  express 
what  never  could  have  been  understood  by  those  who  origin- 
ally heard  it, — ^he  can  not  be  studying  this  book  with  the  right 
spirit.  We  must  take  the  Bible  as  it  is  ;  and  there  certainly 
is  a  very  striking  and  extraordinary  difference,  between  the 
public  instructions  of  our  Savior  himself,  and  those  of  his 
apostles,  in  respect  to  the  prominence  given  to  the  efficacy  of 
his  sufferings  in  preparing  the  way  for  the  salvation  of  men. 
Let  us  look  into  this. 

Whenever,  under  any  government,  a  wrong  is  done,  there 
is,  as  any  one  will  see,  a  broad  distinction  to  be  observed  be- 
tween the  measures  which  the  government  must  adopt,  in 
order  to  render  it  safe  to  pardon  the  perpetrator  of  it,  and  the 
conditions  with  which  the  guilty  individual  is  required  to 
comply,  in  order  to  avail  himself  of  the  offer.  To  make  this 
plain,  even  to  my  younger  readers,  I  will  describe  a  case.  It 
illustrates  the  principle,  I  admit,  on  a  very  small  scale. 

In  a  remote  and  newly-settled  town  in  New  England,  on 
the  shore  of  a  beautiful  pond,  under  a  hill  covered  and  sur- 
rounded with  forests,  was  a  small  school-house,  to  which, 
during  the  leisure  months  of  the  winter,  thirty  or  forty  boys 
and  girls  gathered,  day  after  day,  from  the  small  farm-houses, 
which  were  scattered  over  the  valleys  around.     One  evening 


HUMAN    DUTY.  77 


A  atormy  night.  Trouble.  The  lost  cap. 

a  sort  of  exhibition  was  held  there.  Before  the  time  had 
arrived,  there  had  been  indications  of  an  approaching  snow- 
storm. These  indications  increased  during  the  evening  ;  and 
when,  at  the  close  of  the  evening,  the  assembly  began  to  dis- 
perse, they  found  that  the  storm  had  fairly  set  in. 

The  master  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  putting  away  his 
papers,  and  preparing  to  go  home.  The  snow  was  beating 
against  the  windows,  and  the  aspect  of  the  cold  and  stormy 
weather  without  made  many  of  the  scholars  reluctant  to 
leave  the  warm  and  bright  fire,  which  was  still  burning  on 
the  spacious  hearth.  For  many  of  them  sleighs  were  to  be 
sent  by  their  friends ;  others,  who  were  prepared  themselves 
to  go  forth,  were  waiting  for  their  companions  to  get  ready ; 
and  every  minute  or  two  the  door  would  open  and  admit  a 
boy  shivering  with  cold,  and  white  with  snow. 

Presently  the  master  heard  some  voices  at  the  door,  in 
which  he  could  distinguish  tones  of  complaint  and  suffering. 
Several  of  the  boys  seemed  to  be  talking  together,  apparently 
about  some  act  of  injustice  which  had  occurred,  and  after 
waiting  a  few  minutes,  the  master  sent  for  all  the  boys  who 
were  standing  at  the  door,  to  come  to  him. 

Half  a  dozen  boys  immediately  walked  eagerly  in,  and 
behind  them  followed  one,  more  reluctantly  ;  his  head  was 
bare,  and  he  had  evidently  been  in  tears.  As  this  company 
entered  the  room,  the  conversation  among  the  other  children 
was  hushed,  and  all  their  preparations  were  suspended,  and 
every  face  was  turned  with  an  expression  of  eager  interest 
toward  the  master,  as  the  group  approached  him. 

"William,"  said  the  master  to  one  of  the  foremost  boys, 
"  there  seems  to  have  been  some  trouble  ;  will  you  tell  me 
what  it  is  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  :  Joe  Symmes  threw  his  cap," — ^pointing  to  the 
sorrowful-looking  boy  in  the  rear, — "off upon  the  pond,  and 
it  has  blown  away  and  he  can  not  find  it." 


78  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


CJonversation.  The  teacher's  perplexity. 

•'  Joseph,"  said  the  master,  "  is  it  so  ?" 

Joseph  acknowledged  the  fact.  It  appeared,  on  more 
careful  inquiry,  that  there  had  been  some  angry  collision 
between  the  boys,  in  which  Joseph  had  been  almost  entirely 
to  blame  ;  and  it  was  a  case  of  that  kind  of  tyranny  of  the 
stronger,  which  is  so  common  among  school-boys.  In  the 
end,  he  had  seized  his  schoolmate's  cap,  and  thrown  it  off 
upon  the  icy  surface  of  the  pond,  over  which  it  had  glided 
away  with  the  driving  wind  and  snow,  and  was  soon  lost 
from  view.  Joseph  said  he  knew  that  it  was  wrong,  and  he 
was  sorry.  He  said  he  ran  after  the  cap  as  soon  as  it  was 
gone,  but  he  lost  sight  of  it,  and  that  now  he  did  not  know 
what  he  could  do  to  get  it  again. 

The  master  told  the  boys  that  they  might  go  to  the  fire, 
while  he  considered  for  a  few  minutes  what  he  ought  to  do. 

When  left  alone,  the  teacher  reflected  that  there  were 
two  separate  subjects  of  consideration  for  him.  First  there 
was  an  individual  who  had  been  guilty  of  an  act  of  injustice. 
Next  there  was  a  little  community,  who  had  been  witnesses 
of  that  injustice,  and  were  all  in  suspense,  waiting  to  know 
what  would  follow. 

*'  I  am  unwilling  to  punish  Joseph,"  thought  he,  "  for  he 
seems  to  be  sorry  for  what  he  has  done,  and  I  think  it  highly 
probable  that  he  will  not  repeat  the  wrong  ;  but  if  I  allow 
such  a  case  to  pass  with  a  mere  reproof,  I  fear  it  will  do  in- 
jury to  the  school.  The  boys  will  have  less  abhorrence  in 
future  for  acts  of  injustice  and  oppression  by  the  stronger, 
than  they  have  had.  Just  in  proportion  as  they  see  sin, 
without  seeing  sad  results  coming  from  it  to  the  sinner,  they 
will  lose  their  sensitiveness  to  its  guilt.  I  must  not  allow 
this  case  to  pass  without  something  to  make  the  right  moral 
impression  upon  those  who  have  witnessed  it.  I  wish  that  I 
could  do  this  without  bringing  suffering  upon  Joseph,  but  I 
do  not  see  how  I  can." 


I 


HUMAN    DUTY.  79 


llie  plan  formed.  Penitence  necessary  before  forgiveness. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  what  I  can  do,"  thought  he  ;  "I  will  take  the 
suffering  myself.  '  Yes  ;  I  will  forgive  Joseph  at  once,  and 
then  I  will  go  out  myself  and  find  the  cap,  or  help  them 
find  it,  and  when  the  scholars  see,  that  the  consequences  of 
this  offense  comes  upon  Tuy  head,  bringing  me  inconvenience 
and  even  suffering,  especially  if  they  see  me  bear  it  with 
a  kind  and  forgiving  spirit,  perhaps  it  will  do  as  much  good 
as  punishing  Joseph  would  do.  Yes ;  I  know  that  all  my 
pupils,  and  Joseph  among  the  rest,  are  strongly  attached  to 
me,  and  I  am  sure  that  when  they  see  me  going  out  into  the 
cold  storm,  over  the  ice,  and  through  the  snow,  to  repair  the 
injury  which  he  has  done,  it  will  make  a  strong  impression. 
In  fact  it  will,  I  am  sure,  touch  them  more  effectually,  and 
produce  a  much  stronger  dislike  to  such  a  spirit,  than  four 
times  as  much  inconvenience  and  suffering  inflicted  as  a 
punishment  upon  Joseph  himself." 

It  is  evident  now  that  such  a  plan  would  be  safe  and 
proper  only  on  supposition  that  Joseph  is  really  sorry  for 
what  he  has  done.  The  course  proposed  would  be  altogether 
inadmissible,  if  the  offender,  instead  of  being  humble  and 
penitent,  should  appear  angry  and  stubborn. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  master's  plan  was  a  wise  one, 
although  real  penitence  on  the  part  of  Joseph  would  be 
absolutely  necessary,  nothing  else  would  be  necessary.  He 
need  not  know  any  thing  about  the  plan  on  which  the 
master  relies,  for  producing  the  right  moral  impression  on 
the  little  community. 

Now  the  whole  object  of  this  illustration,  is  to  bring  clearly 
forward  the  distinction,  between  what  is  necessary  as  a 
measure  of  government — in  order  to  prepare  the  way  to  offer 
pardon,  and  what  is  necessary  as  an  act  of  the  criminal,  in 
order  to  enable  him  to  receive  it. 

It  is  very  evident,  in  this  case,  that  these  two  things  are 
entirely  distinct  and  disconnected,  and  that  it  is  not  at  all 


80  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


A  dialogue.  Forgiveness  of  Joseph. 

necessary  that  Joseph  should  know  the  ground  on  which  the 
teacher  concluded  it  safe  for  him  to  be  forgiven.  The 
master's  suffering  the  inconvenience  and  trouble  is  an 
essential  thing  to  he  done,  in  order  to  render  it  safe  to 
forgive ;  but  it  is  not  an  essential  thing  to  be  known,  at  the 
time  forgiveness  is  declared.  In  fact,  the  most  delicate  and 
most  successful  mode  of  managing  the  affair,  would  be  for 
the  master  to  say  nothing  about  the  philosophy  of  his  course 
of  action,  but  simply  to  adopt  his  course,  and  leave  it  to  pro- 
duce its  own  natural  and  proper  effects. 

Accordingly  the  master,  in  this  case,  after  a  few  minutes 
of  reflection,  called  the  boys  to  him  again. 

**  Joseph,"  said  he,  "  you  have  done  wrong,  in  oppress- 
ing one  younger  and  weaker  than  yourself,  and  I  might 
justly  punish  you.  I  have  concluded  however  to  forgive 
you ; — ^that  is  if  you  are  sorry  for  the  wrong.  Are  you 
sorry?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am,"  replied  the  boy  distinctly. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  make  proper  reparation,  if  I  will  tell 
you  what  to  do  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  James,"  continued  the  master,  "  are  you  willing  that  he 
should  be  forgiven  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am  willing  he  should  be  forgiven ;  but  how 
shall  I  get  my  cap  ?" 

"  I  will  talk  with  you  about  that,  presently.  You  see  that 
is  another  part  of  the  subject ;  the  question  now  is,  what  is 
to  be  done  with  Joseph  ?  He  has  done  wrong,  and  might 
justly  be  punished,  but  he  is  sorry  for  it,  and  in  this  case,  I 
conclude  not  to  punish  him." 

If  the  whole  subject  were  to  be  left  here,  the  reader  will 
perceive  how  incomplete  and  unfinished  the  transaction 
would  be  considered,  in  respect  to  its  effects  on  those  who 
witnessed  it.     It  would,  if  left  here,  bring  down  the  standard 


HUMAN    DUTY.  81 


The  teacher's  walk.  Effect  on  the  boys.  His  return. 

of  justice  and  kindness  among  the  "boys.  And  if  the  pupils 
had  been  accustomed  to  an  efficient  government,  they  would 
he  surprised  at  such  a  result. 

But  still,  though  the  teacher  had  something  in  reserve  to 
prevent  such  an  injury,  it  was  not,  as  I  have  said  before,  at 
all  necessary,  nay,  it  was  not  expedient,  that  he  should  say 
any  thing  about  it,  thus  far.  Joseph's  penitence  was  essen- 
tial to  render  his  pardon  proper.  This  it  was  indeed  neces- 
sary for  him  to  understand.  The  measure  to  be  adopted 
was  essential  to  render  that  pardon  safe.  This  it  was  essen- 
tial for  no  one  but  the  master  to  understand.  It  was  neces- 
sary that  the  moral  effect  should  be  produced  on  all,  but  the 
measure  which  the  master  had  in  view  for  producing  it,  might 
safely  remain  unexplained,  till  the  time  came  for  putting  it 
into  execution. 

After  all  was  thus  settled  with  the  boys,  the  master  took 
down  his  cloak,  and  said  that  he  would  go  out  and  see  if  he 
could  find  the  cap.  Joseph  wished  to  go  with  him,  but  his 
teacher  replied,  that  it  would  do  no  good  for  him  to  go  out 
in  the  cold  too  ; — it  might  be  necessary  to  go  quite  across  the 
pond.  He  however  asked  Joseph  to  show  him  exactly  where 
he  had  thrown  the  cap,  and  then,  noticing  the  direction  of 
the  wind,  the  master  walked  on  in  pursuit. 

A  cluster  of  boys  stood  at  the  door,  and  the  girls  crowded 
at  the  windows  to  see  their  teacher  work  his  way  over  the 
slippery  surface,  stopping  to  examine  every  dark  object, 
and  exploring  with  his  feet  every  little  drift  of  snow.  They 
said  nothing  about  the  philosophy  of  the  transaction  ;  in  fact, 
they  did  not  understand  it.  The  theory  of  moral  government 
was  a  science  unknown  to  them  ;  but  every  heart  was  warm 
with  gratitude  to  their  teacher,  and  alive  to  a  vivid  sense  of 
the  criminality  of  such  conduct  as  had  resulted  thus.  And 
when,  after  a  time,  they  saw  him  returning  with  the  cap  in 
his  hand,  which  he  had  found  half  buried  in  the  snow,  under 


82 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Mopal  effect  of  Cbrist's  sufferings. 


THE    LOST   CAP 


a  bank  on  the  opposite  shore,  there  was  not  one  whose  heart 
was  not  full  of  affection  and  gratitude  toward  the  teacher, 
and  of  displeasure  at  the  sin.  And  the  teacher  himself, 
though  he  said  not  a  word  in  explanation,  felt  that  by  that 
occurrence,  a  more  effectual  blow  had  been  struck  at  every 
thing  like  unkindness  and  ill-will  among  his  pupils,  than 
would  have  been  secured  by  any  reproofs  he  could  have  admin- 
istered, or  by  any  plan  of  punishment,  however  just  and  severe. 
Such  a  case  is  analogous,  in  many  respects,  to  the  meas- 
ures which  God  has  adopted  to  make  the  forgiveness  of  hu- 
man guilt  safe.  It  is  only  one  point,  however,  of  the  analogy, 
which  I  wish  the  reader  to  observe  here,  namely,  that  though 
the  measure  in  question  was  a  thing  essential  for  the  master 
to  do,  it  was  not  essential  for  the  criminal  to  understand,  at 
the  time  he  was  forgiven. 


HUMAN    DUTY.  83 


The  penitent  child. 


So  in  regard  to  the  moral  effect  of  God's  government,  pro- 
duced by  the  sufferings  of  Jesus  Christ,  in  preparing  the  way 
for  the  forgiveness  of  sin.  The  measure  itself  was  necessary 
to  render  free  forgiveness  safe,  hut  a  clear  understanding  of 
its  nature  and  of  its  moral  effect,  is  not  always  necessary  to 
enable  the  individual  sinner  to  avail  himself  of  it. 

In  the  early  ages  of  the  world,  it  was  obscurely  intimated 
to  men,  that,  through  some  future  descendant  of  Abraham, 
measures  were  to  be  adopted,  which  would  open  the  way  for 
the  expiation  of  human  guilt.  What  these  measures  were, 
few,  if  any,  understood.  Men  were,  in  many  cases,  anxiously 
waiting  for  a  development  of  them,  but,  in  the  mean  time,  it 
was  universally  understood,  that  if  any  man  would  forsake 
his  sins  and  serve  Jehovah,  he  would  be  forgiven.  The  sim- 
ple proclamation,  "  Repent  and  be  forgiven,"  went  every- 
where. The  ground,  on  which  such  a  proclamation  could 
be  safe  and  wise,  it  was  for  God  alone  to  consider,  and  to 
reveal  to  men,  just  as  soon,  and  just  as  extensively,  as  he 
might  see  fit. 

Let  it  be  understood,  that  I  am  speaking  of  what  is  essen- 
tial, not  what  is  desirable.  The  knowledge  of  our  Savior's 
sufferings  and  death,  and  clear  ideas  of  the  grounds  of  them, 
have  been  in  every  age,  the  most  powerful  of  all  possible 
means  of  impressing  the  heart,  and  leading  men  to  God. 
Still  they  are  not  the  only  means.  Man  could  not  have  been 
forgiven  if  Christ  did  not  die,  but  he  may  be  forgiven,  and 
yet  not  know  that  Christ  died,  till  he  actually  meets  him  in 
heaven. 

The  moment  a  little  child,  for  instance,  is  capable  of  know- 
ing that  it  has  a  Maker,  and  of  discerning  between  right  and 
wrong,  it  is  capable  of  loving  God,  and  feeling  penitence  for 
sin  ;  and  the  mysterious  influences  of  the  Spirit  may  as 
easily  awaken  these  feelings  at  this  age,  as  at  any  other.  It 
can  be  forgiven,  however,  only  through  the  sufferings  of  its 


84  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  shipwrecked  minister.  The  savages. 

Savior,  and  yet  months  must  elapse,  before  it  can  know  any 
thing  about  these  sufferings ;  and  years,  before  it  can  look 
into  the  principles  of  government  enough,  to  see  why  they 
were  necessary,  or  to  appreciate  at  all  the  moral  impression 
which  they  produce. 

Suppose  a  Christian  minister  is  thrown  by  shipwreck  upon 
a  savage  island,  and  in  a  state  of  sickness  and  exhaustion  so 
great,  that  he  feels  that  he  must  sink  in  a  few  days  to  the 
grave.  He  knows  nothing  of  the  language  of  the  islanders, 
but  he  soon  succeeds,  by  careful  attention,  in  obtaining 
phrases  enough  to  preach  the  simple  duty  of  repentance. 

*'  There  is  a  God,"  he  says  to  those  around  him  in  his  dy- 
ing hour.  "  He  will  punish  the  wicked.  Become  good  and 
you  will  please  him." 

"  Ah  !"  reply  the  savages,  "  we  have  all  been  wicked  al- 
ready,— ^very  wicked." 

*'  Think  not  about  the  past,"  he  replies.  "  It  will  be  for- 
given : — ^there  is  a  way — I  can  not  explain  it.  Leave  your 
wickedness  and  do  right,  and  God  will  save  you." 

As  he  utters  these  words,  his  strength  fails,  and  his  au- 
dience can  hear  no  more.  But  they  have  heard  enough.  I 
do  not  say  enough  to  induce  them  to  forsake  their  sins  and 
return  to  God,  but  to  show  them  how  to  do  it.  And  if  men, 
after  hearing  only  such  a  sermon  as  that,  were  to  continue 
their  lives  of  wickedness,  and  die  unchanged,  it  would  still 
be  true,  that  the  opportunity  of  mercy  had  been  fully  before 
them. 

"  We  did  not  know,"  they  might  say,  when  called  to  ac- 
count, "  that  a  Savior  had  died  for  us,  and  consequently  could 
not  know  how  we  could  be  forgiven." 

"  You  are  without  excuse,"  the  judge  might  reply.  "  It 
was  for  you  to  abandon  your  sins ; — It  was  for  me  to  consider 
how  you  could  be  forgiven." 

Now  every  savage  that  ever  lived  has  had  just  such  a  ser- 


HUMAN   DUTY.  86 


Conscience,  the  imiversal  monitor.  John  the  Baptist.  Jonah. 

mon  as  this  preached  to  him.  Not  by  a  Christian  minister, 
indeed,  wrecked  on  the  reefs  of  his  island,  but  by  a  far  more 
faithful  and  intelligible  preacher  than  any  such  would  be. 
Conscience,  the  universal  ambassador  from  heaven,  has  been 
unceasingly  faithful,  in  every  age,  and  in  every  clime,  preach- 
ing repentance,  and  opening  the  door  of  salvation  to  every 
human  soul.  That  our  fellow-men  do  almost  invariably, 
if  left  to  this  warning  voice  alone,  disregard  it  and  persist  in 
sin,  is  indeed  true  ;  but  at  the  day  of  judgment,  it  will  ap- 
pear that,  of  all  the  countless  millions  of  the  human  family, 
though  but  a  very  small  portion  ever  heard  of  a  Savior,  there 
never  was  one,  who  might  not  have  been  saved  through  his 
death,  if  he  had  done  what  God,  during  all  his  life,  was  con- 
tinually calling  him  to  do. 

Though  this  preaching,  that  is,  the  simple  call  to  repent- 
ance, is  generally  powerless  over  unenlightened  and  pagan 
minds,  it  is  not  always  so.  In  the  Jewish  nation,  there  were 
undoubtedly  a  great  many  penitent  and  pardoned  men,  though 
they  knew  little  or  nothing  of  their  future  Savior.  John 
the  Baptist  undoubtedly  made  many  true  converts  ;  even 
Jonah's  preaching  was  successful ;  and  a  hundred  and  twenty, 
at  least,  were  found  to  have  received  aright  the  instructions 
of  our  Savior,  though  even  his  apostles  do  not  appear  to  have 
fully  understood  before  his  death,  that  he  was  to  be  crucified 
for  them.  It  is  so  too  in  our  times.  True  piety,  unquestion- 
ably, often  exists  where  there  is  a  very  imperfect  understanding, 
or  at  least  a  very  limited  appreciation,  of  the  nature  of  the  great 
sacrifice  for  sin.  This  fact  is  very  evident  to  all,  though  it 
often  very  much  embarrasses  those  who  do  not  properly  dis- 
tinguish between  what  is  necessary  for  man  to  do,  in  order 
to  be  saved,  and  what  it  is  necessary  for  God  to  do,  in  order 
to  render  it  safe  to  save  him.  On  this  latter  point,  the  hu- 
man soul  may  be  kept  in  the  dark  by  a  thousand  circum- 
stances, for  which  it  is  not  responsible  :  but  in  regard  to  the 


86  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Voice  of  conscience.  Personal  duty  plain,  though  universally  neglected. 

former,  it  can  not  be  kept  in  ignorance,  or  led  into  mistake. 
Conscience  may  indeed  be  perverted  ;  but  still  it  will  some- 
times speak, — more  or  less  distinctly  it  is  true, — but  it  will 
speak  :  and  not  a  human  being  can  get  through  his  time  of 
trial  here,  without  hearing  its  warning.  God  has  given  it 
a  message  to  every  one,  which,  if  heeded,  will  secure  sal- 
vation ;  and  that  message  it  will,  in  every  case,  most  assur- 
edly deliver. 

It  seems,  then,  that  Jesus  Christ  very  clearly  recognized 
the  distinction  between  the  provision  which  God  must  make, 
in  order  to  open  the  way  for  human  salvation,  and  the  part 
which  man  must  perform,  to  avail  himself  of  it ;  and  it  is 
the  last,  very  evidently,  which  it  is  of  direct  and  immediate 
importance  to  man  to  know.  It  was  the  last  which  he 
accordingly  devoted  his  chief  time  and  attention  in  urging 
on  man, — ^namely,  his  own  personal,  immediate  duty.  They 
who  heard  him  were  indeed  inexcusable  before,  but  the 
clearness,  the  distinctness  and  the  emphasis,  with  which  he 
brought  forward  the  claims  of  God  over  human  hearts,  ren- 
dered them  more  inexcusable  still. 

And  here  I  must  remark,  that  this  mode  of  attempting  to 
turn  men  to  God,  met  with  only  very  partial  success.  Jesus 
Christ  succeeded  in  persuading  very  few.  It  was  not  till 
afterward,  when  the  love  of  Christ  in  dying  for  men  was 
loudly  and  universally  proclaimed,  that  hearts  were  touched 
and  penitence  awakened.  But  still  this  preaching  of  ths 
sufferings  of  Christ  afterward,  was  not  throwing  additional 
light  upon  duty, — it  was  only  a  new  inducement  to  do  it. 
The  great  duty,  repentance  for  sin,  was  the  same  afterward 
as  before.  The  only  difference  was,  that  men  were  more 
easily  led  to  repent  after  they  had  learned  the  greatness  of 
the  sacrifice  by  which  alone  penitence  could  be  available. 
They  ought,  however,  to  have  repented  before  ;  if  they  had 


HUMAN    DUTY.  87 


God's  design  in  the  creation. 


done  so,  God  would  have  forgiven  them,  though  they  could 
not  have  understood  how  such  forgiveness  could  safely  be 
bestowed.  And  so  it  is  now.  By  the  sacrifice  of  the  Son  of 
God,  the  door  of  salvation  on  repentance,  is  opened  to 
every  human  being  on  the  globe.  =^ 

But  to  return.  The  great  subject  of  Christ's  instructions 
seems  to  have  been  simply,  human  duty.  It  was  his  object 
to  explain,  not  the  great  arrangements  and  measures  of  God's 
government,  but  the  duties  which  each  individual  sinner  had 
personally  to  perform. 

In  order  to  exhibit  clearly  the  ground  which  our  Savior 
occupied  in  his  public  ministrations,  we  must  consider  the 
plan  which  the  Creator  seems  to  have  formed  for  the  human 
race,  when  he  determined  to  call  them  into  being.  His  de- 
sign is  represented  to  us  to  have  been  to  form  one  great, 
united  and  happy  family,  over  which  he  should  himself  reign 
as  the  beloved  and  acknowledged  sovereign.  All  the  re- 
sources of  his  wisdom  and  power  were  to  be  employed  to 
promote  the  happiness  of  his  creatures,  and  he  designed  they 
should  themselves  all  co-operate  with  him  in  these  aims, 
each  being  interested  in  the  happiness  of  all  the  others,  and 
joined  together  in  him.  Many  a  father  aims  at  promoting 
such  a  feeling  of  mutual  good-will  among  his  children,  and 
of  dependence  and  attachment  toward  him  as  their  head, 

*  It  has  often  been  made  a  question  among  religious  writers,  wheth- 
er, in  point  of  fact,  repentance  and  salvation  ever  come  to  the  inhab- 
itants of  those  benighted  countries,  where  the  Savior  has  never  been 
known.  Into  this  question  we  do  not  now  enter ;  that  is,  it  is  not  our 
design  here  to  inquire  whether  they  ever  do  repent  and  forsake  their 
sins,  but  only  to  exhibit  the  sentiment  held  up  by  the  apostle,  in  the  first 
chapter  to  the  Romans,  that  God  has  not  left  himself  without  witness 
to  any  son  or  daughter  of  Adam.  It  is  certain  that  if  they  would  listen 
to  this  voice,  and  repent  of  sin,  they  would  be  forgiven.  Whether  they 
ever  actually  do  this,  or  not,  is  a  question  which  we  consider  more 
fully  in  the  following  chapter. 


88  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  ten  commandments. 


while  he,  nevertheless,  steadily  refuses  to  come  under  the 
same  system  in  his  relation  to  God,  who  is  the  great  head 
of  the  family  to  which  he  himself  belongs.  The  children 
of  such  a  father,  one  would  suppose,  might  often  see  the 
contrast  between  the  filial  and  fraternal  duty  which  he  is 
willing  to  perform  himself,  and  that  which  he  expects  of  them. 
Taking  this  view  of  the  design  of  God,  in  regard  to  the 
family  of  man,  we  shall  be  surprised  to  see  how  admirably 
adapted  to  secure  it  that  code  of  laws  is,  which  he  originally 
gave  to  men.  We  have  read  the  ten  commandments  so 
many  times,  nay,  they  have  been  so  long,  and  so  indelibly 
impressed  on  the  memory,  that  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  ap- 
proach them  in  such  a  way,  as  to  get  a  fresh  and  vivid 
conception  of  their  character.  To  obviate,  in  some  degree, 
this  difficulty,  I  give  the  substance  of  them  in  other  lan- 
guage, so  that  the  reader  may  see  more  clearly,  by  looking 
at  them,  as  it  were,  in  a  new  light,  with  what  admirable 
skill  they  are  adapted  to  the  object.  The  wisest  assembly 
of  statesmen  or  legislators  which  ever  convened,  if  called 
together  to  form  a  code  for  all  the  world, — one  to  apply  to 
every  nation,  and  to  operate  through  all  time,  could  not  have 
made  a  better  selection  of  points  to  be  brought  forward,  or 
arranged  them  with  more  scientific  and  logical  precision,  or 
expressed  them  in  clearer  terms.  And  yet  the  infidel  affects 
to  believe  that  they  were  the  production  of  the  half  civilized 
leader  of  a  wandering  horde, — contrived  just  to  assist  their 
author  in  maintaining  an  influence  over  his  semi-barbarous 
followers  !     But  let  us  look  at  this  code. 


THE  MORAL  LAW. 

I.      DUTY    TO    GOD. 

First  1-  Your  Maker  must  be  the  highest  object 

Commandment,    of  your  interest  and  affection.     Allow  nothing 


HUMAN   DUTY.  89 


Analysis  of  the  moral  law. 


Second 


to  take  precedence  of  him ;  but  make  it  your 
first  and  great  desire  to  please  him  and  to  obey 
his  commands. 

2.  You  are  never  to  speak  of  him  lightly  or 
with  irreverence,  and  you  are  not  to  regard  any 
visible    object  as   the   representative  of   him.       and  Third 
He  is  a  spirit,  invisible  from  his  very  nature.    Commandments. 
and  you  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in 

truth. 

3.  Consecrate  one  day  in  seven  to  the  wor- 
ship of  God,  and  to  your  own  religious  improve-         Fourth 
ment.     Entirely  suspend,  for  this  purpose,  all   Commandment, 
worldly  employments,  and  sacredly  devote  the 

day  to  God. 


n.      DUTY    TO    PARENTS. 

You  are  placed  in  this  world  under  the  care 
of  parents,  whom  God  makes  his  vicegerents, 
to  provide  for  your  early  wants,  and  to  afford  Fifth 

you  protection.     Now  you  must  obey  and  honor   Commandment, 
them.     Do  what  they  command  you,  comply 
with  their  wishes,  and  always  treat  them  with 
respect  and  affection. 

in.      DUTY    TO    MANKIND. 

Keep  constantly  in  view,  in  all  your  inter- 
course with  men,  their  welfare  and  happiness, 
as  well  as  your  own.  Conscientiously  respect 
the  rights  of  others,  in  regard, 

1 .  To  the  security  of  life.  Commandment. 

2.  To  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  family,  commmidment. 

3.  To  property.  Commandment. 

4.  To  reputation.  Commandment. 


90  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Its  character.  Effects  of  obedience  to  it. 

In  keeping  these  commands,  too,  you  must 
Tenth  regulate  your  heart  as  well  as  your  conduct. 

Commandment.    Qq^  forbids  the  unholy  desire,  as  much  as  he 
does  the  unholy  action. 

Such  is  God's  moral  law.  And  we  may  triumphantly  ask, 
where  is  the  statesman  or  philosopher,  who  with  all  the  light 
and  the  experience  of  modern  times,  can  improve  it.  In 
giving  it  as  above,  I  have  made  no  change  except  to  alter  the 
language,  so  as  to  present  it  with  freshness  to  the  reader, — 
and  to  number  its  sections,  so  as  to  bring  its  admirable  ar- 
rangement more  distinctly  to  view.  I  have  not  omitted  one 
of  its  provisions,  or  added  one  not  originally  there,  nor  altered 
the  position  of  a  single  command.  Even  the  logical  precision 
of  arrangement,  which  is  exhibited  above,  is  not  the  result 
of  any  artificial  systematizing  of  mine.  The  form  in  which 
I  have  presented  the  code  only  brings  to  view  the  logical 
perfection  which  the  code  itself  in  its  usual  form  presents,  as 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  I  follow  the  precise  order  of  the 
commands,  without  omitting  or  changing  the  position  of  one 
of  them. 

Look,  then,  at  this  law  again,  and  imagine  it  perfectly 
obeyed  in  this  world.  What  a  scene  of  peace  and  happiness 
it  would  insure.  And  yet  this  is  the  law  which  men  will 
persist  in  refusing  to  obey,  and  the  infraction  of  which  con- 
stitutes the  whole  controversy  pending  between  God  and 
man.  This  law  the  human  race  will  not  conform  to.  They 
never  have  conformed  to  it,  and  they  will  not  begin.  And 
yet  disregarded,  violated,  trampled  upon  as  it  has  been  by 
common  consent,  throughout  the  whole  human  family,  no 
man  has  ever  dared  to  lift  up  his  voice  against  its  justice. 
From  the  day  when  it  was  first  thundered  forth  on  Sinai,  it 
has  been  loudly  proclaiming  its  commands,  conscience,  in 
every  bosom,  re-echoing  its  voice  ;  and  the  boldest,  the  wild- 


HITMAN   DUTY.  91 


Spiritual  obedience  to  it.  The  Priest  and  the  Levite. 

est,  the  most  daring  opposer  of  God,  never  had  a  word  to 
utter  against  the  justice  and  rightfulness  of  its  claims. 

Now  the  great  design  of  our  Savior's  instructions,  was  to 
induce  men  to  abandon  their  sins,  and  begin  at  once  to  keep 
this  law.  He  explained  its  spirituality,  and  brought  out  to 
view  the  two  great  principles  on  which  all  its  commands 
were  based ;  supreme  affection  to  God,  and  disinterested  be- 
nevolence toward  men. 

It  is  most  interesting  to  observe,  how  directly  and  clearly 
Jesus  Christ  always  insisted  upon  spiritual  obedience  to  the 
law, — I  mean  by  this,  obedience  of  the  heart ; — and  how 
constantly  he  cut  off,  in  the  most  decided  manner,  all  those 
hollow  acts  of  mere  external  conformity,  which  men  were 
continually  substituting  in  the  place  of  this  spiritual  obedi- 
ence. And  it  is,  if  possible,  still  more  interesting  to  observe, 
how  liberal  and  expanded  were  his  views  in  regard  to  the 
mitward  acts  by  which  this  heartfelt  compliance  might  be 
indicated.  On  the  one  hand,  no  act  whatever,  and  no  course 
of  life,  however  seemingly  religious,  would  satisfy  him,  if 
there  was  evidence  that  the  secret  feelings  of  the  heart  were 
wrong.  On  the  other  hand,  no  action  was  too  trivial  to  be  a 
mark  of  piety,  if  it  only  proceeded  from  the  right  spirit.  For 
example,  here  are  a  priest  and  a  Levite,  devoting  their  lives 
to  their  Maker's  service.  No  one  doubts  their  eminent  holi- 
ness. How  does  the  Savior  judge  ?  Why,  he  leads  them 
along  a  road  which  conducts  to  a  spot  where  a  man  lies  suf- 
fering. He  watches  to  see  what  they  will  do. —  They  pass 
by  on  the  other  side.  Ah,  that  reveals  the  secret !  A  man 
may  devote  his  life  to  the  external  service  of  God,  without 
really  loving  him  at  all ;  but  he  can  not  really  love  him,  and 
yet  pass  by  and  neglect  a  distressed  and  suffering  brother. 
And  so  in  a  thousand  other  cases.  The  tests  which  he  ap- 
plied to  the  religious  professions  of  those  days,  and  which  are 
equally  applicable  to  the  bold,  self-sufficient,  hollow-hearted 


92  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Various  ways  of  beginning  to  obey. 


zeal,  which  sometimes  displays  itself  in  our  times,  are  char- 
acterized by  a  beauty,  a  clearness,  a  delicacy,  and  at  the 
same  time  by  a  searching  and  scrutinizing  power,  wholly 
without  a  parallel. 

And  while  he  could  be  deceived  by  no  counterfeit,  and 
would  take  no  specious  appearance  on  trust,  but  cut  away, 
with  a  most  unsparing  hand,  all  false  pretenses,  and  all  mere 
external  show,  his  liberality,  in  regard  to  modes  by  which 
real,  genuine  piety  should  exhibit  itself,  was  unbounded.  All 
that  he  desired  was  that  the  heart  should  be  right.  He 
cared  not  how  its  feelings  were  evinced.  He  found  a  man 
engaged  in  his  ordinary  business,  and  asked  him  to  leave  it 
and  follow  him  ;  another  wished  to  know  what  he  should  do 
to  inherit  eternal  life,  and  he  directed  him  to  employ  all  his 
property  as  a  means  of  doing  good  ;  in  another  case,  he  pro- 
nounced an  individual  forgiven,  merely  on  account  of  per- 
sonal kindness  shown  to  himself!  Sometimes  he  called  on 
men  to  repent ;  sometimes  to  believe  on  him  ;  sometimes  to 
obey  his  precepts.  He  was  satisfied  of  Mary's  piety,  by  the 
teachable,  docile  spirit  which  she  manifested,  in  listening  to 
his  conversation  in  her  house  ;  he  pronounced  many  persons 
forgiven,  on  account  of  the  feeling  with  which  they  came  to 
be  healed  ;  and  even  when  the  malefactor  on  the  cross  asked 
to  be  remembered  by  Jesus  in  paradise,  the  Savior  considered 
those  words  alone,  as  the  external  indications  of  a  renewed 
heart. 

It  is  very  evident  that  he  thought  it  of  comparatively  little 
consequence  what  men  did  first,  in  beginning  to  serve  God. 
The  great  point  was  to  induce  them  to  serve  him  at  all. 
We  are  very  slow  to  follow  his.  example  in  this  respect.  We 
are  prone  to  insist  upon  some  precise  way  in  which  all  men 
shall  repent  and  be  saved.  We  arrange  the  steps,  and  must 
have  them  taken  in  their  exact,  prescribed  order,  and  if  these 
steps  are  not  followed,  we  are  suspicious  and  afraid,  whatever 


HUMAN   DUTY.  93 


The  absent  master.       The  disobedient  boys.       Expostulation.        How  to  begin. 

may  be  the  ultimate  fruits.  We  consider  the  case  anoma- 
lous, if  we  are  compelled  to  admit  it  to  be  genuine. 

A  master  of  a  family,  we  will  suppose,  goes  away  from 
home,  leaving  his  sons  in  charge  of  his  affairs,  and  giving 
them  employment,  in  which  he  urges  them  to  be  diligent 
and  faithful  until  his  return.  After  he  leaves  them,  how- 
ever, they  all  neglect  their  duty,  and  live  in  idleness,  or  oc- 
cupy themselves  solely  with  their  amusements.  A  friend 
comes  in,  and  remonstrates  with  them.  He  gives  them  a 
labored  account  of  the  radical  defects  in  their  hearts,  the 
philosophical  distinction  between  dutiful  and  undutiful  sons, 
and  the  metaphysical  steps  of  a  change  from  one  character 
to  the  other.  His  discourse  is  all  perfectly  true,  and  admira- 
bly philosophical,  but  it  is  sadly  impotent,  in  regard  to  making 
any  impression  on  human  hearts. 

Another  man  comes  to  address  them  in  a  different  mode. 
He  calls  upon  them  at  once  to  return  to  their  duty. 

"  What  shall  we  do  first  ?"  ask  the  boys. 

"  Do  first  ?  do  any  thing  first ;  there  is  the  garden  to  be 
weeded,  and  the  library  to  be  arranged,  and  your  rooms  to  be 
put  in  order.  No  matter  what  you  do  first.  Begin  to  obey 
your  father ;  that  is  the  point." 

As  he  says  this  he  goes  around  the  premises,  and,  as  he 
finds  one  after  another,  loitering  in  idleness  or  mischief,  he 
calls  upon  them  to  return  to  duty.  They  are  awakened  ; 
they  see,  more  distinctly  than  they  had  done,  their  negligence 
and  guilt ;  and  as  they  come  successively,  to  know  what 
they  shall  do,  he  points  out  to  their  attention  various  tasks, 
according  to  the  age  and  situation  of  each.  His  object  is  not 
merely  external,  but  sincere  and  heartfelt  obedience,  but  he 
cares  little  by  what  particular  act  the  new  course  of  obedi- 
ence begins. 

It  is  just  so  with  the  preaching  of  Jesus  Christ.  He  ex- 
plained the  purity  and  beauty  and  perfection  of  God's  holy 


94  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Giving  cold  water.  Holiness  is  submission. 

law,  and  then  called  upon  men  everywhere  to  begin  to  live 
in  conformity  to  it.  In  obeying  this  call  it  is  no  matter  what 
men  do  first.  No  matter  with  what  particular  aspect  the 
dawning  light  of  Christianity  first  shines  ;  let  it  enter  where 
it  will,  it  will  rise  and  spread  till  it  illuminates  the  whole. 
Nor  can  any  external  action,  if  it  comes  from  the  right  spirit, 
be  too  unimportant  to  constitute  the  first  step  in  a  Christian 
course.  Jesus  Christ  acted  on  this  principle  most  fully.  He 
even  said  that  if  a  man  would  give  a  cup  of  cold  water ^  to  a 
disciple,  in  the  name  of  Christ,  that  is,  acting  himself  under 
the  influence  of  Christian  feeling,  he  should  not  lose  his  re- 
ward ! 

Nor  is  that  remark  a  mere  metaphor,  striking  and  beauti- 
ful as  it  is.  It  is  strictly  true,  that  giving  a  cup  of  water  to 
a  follower  of  the  Savior,  may  be  the  first  act  of  a  religious 
life.  A  man  who  has  been  neglecting  or  opposing  religion 
all  his  days,  may  be  asked  by  a  Christian,  some  trifling  favor 
like  that,  and  the  opportunity  of  promoting,  even  in  so  slight  a 
degree,  the  cause  which  he  had  been  opposing,  might  so  bring 
to  his  view  the  happiness  of  co-operating  with  God,  in  con- 
trast to  the  misery  and  guilt  of  opposing  him,  that  his  heart 
might  melt  at  once,  and  he  might  perform  that  little  deed  of 
kindness,  in  the  exercise  of  his  very  first  feeling  of  submission 
to  his  Maker. 

The  course  which  our  Savior  pursued  is  the  most  per- 
fectly philosophical.  Holiness  is  submission  to  God's  law ; 
and  though,  in  principle  and  spirit,  it  is  always  the  same,  it 
assumes  in  the  heart  many  different  forms  ;  or  rather  a  holy 
heart,  a  heart  willing  to  submit,  will  exist  in  many  different 
states,  according  to  the  objects  presented  to  it.  Hold  up  the 
kindness  and  mercy  of  God  to  its  view,  and  it  feels  grateful ; 
present  its  past  sins,  and  it  mourns :  show  God's  goodness, 
and  the  leading  principles  of  his  government  and  character, 
and  it  rejoices.     Thus  holiness  looking  at  sin,  is  penitence  ; 


HUMAN   DUTY.  95 


VarioTis  forms  of  piety.  The  conversion  of  a  little  child. 

at  God,  is  joy ;  at  duty,  resolution ;  at  self,  humility ;  at 
human  woes,  compassion.  In  Abraham,  it  shone  as  obe- 
dience ;  in  Job,  as  patience  ;  in  John,  as  love.  And  yet  in 
all  it  is  one.  If  it  exist  in  one  form,  it  will  exist  in  each 
of  the  others,  when  the  circumstances  call  for  them.  Job 
would  have  been  obedient  if  God  had  commanded  him  to 
leave  his  country,  and  Abraham  would  have  been  patient 
under  suffering,  like  Job.  We  hear  nothing  of  Joseph's 
penitence,  nor  of  Samuel's  faith  in  Christ,  nor  of  Daniel's 
brotherly  love.  But  it  was  the  same  spirit  nevertheless, 
which  reigned  in  all  these  hearts,  appearing  by  different 
exhibitions,  but  in  all  its  hundred  forms  remaining  still  the 
same.  It  was  holiness, — attachment  to  the  cause  of  God, — 
desire  to  keep  his  pure  and  perfect  law,  and  submission  to  his 
will.  This  spirit  shines  in  various  hues,  and  with  different 
degrees  of  luster,  according  to  the  varying  circumstances  and 
conditions  of  the  hearts  in  which  it  bums.  But  it  is  the  same 
spirit,  whether  it  guides  Abraham  across  the  desert,  or  in- 
spires David's  songs  of  praise;  whether  it  leads  Peter  to 
penitence,  fills  Stephen's  heart  with  peace  and  joy, — or 
brings  thousands  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  to  believe  in 
the  Savior  and  forsake  their  sins.  It  is  not  enough,  to  say 
that  these  various  Christian  graces  are  all  of  one  family ; 
they  are  all  in  essence  one  and  the  same  thing  :  so  that  if 
one  comes,  the  others  will  inevitably,  as  circumstances  call 
them,  all  follow  in  their  train. 

This  view  of  the  subject  is  of  immense  practical  impor- 
tance to  all  who  are  endeavoring,  at  the  present  day,  to 
promote  piety.  It  shows  us  how  very  various,  and  how 
entirely  different,  may  be  the  first  steps  of  the  return  to  God. 
You  have  under  your  care,  for  instance,  a  little  child.  He  is 
too  young  to  know  much  about  religious  truth  ; — ^the  nature 
of  forgiveness, — ^the  necessity  of  punishment, — the  love  of  the 
Savior, — or  a  judgment  to  come.      You  can  tell   him  of 


96  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Spiritual  darkness.  Way  to  remove  it. 

Grod,  however ;  his  existence,  his  presence,  his  holy  charac- 
ter ;  and  then  you  can  just  ask  him,  some  morning,  to  do 
right  that  day  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  God.  Perhaps  he 
will  not.  He  may  try  to  do  right,  for  the  purpose  of  receiv- 
ing your  praises  or  rewards,  without  feeling,  however,  any 
desire  to  please  God.  On  the  other  hand,  perhaps  he  will. 
If  he  does,  it  will  indeed  be  through  an  influence  exerted 
upon  his  tender  affections,  in  answer  to  your  prayers ;  but  he 
may  be,  and  probably  in  many  instances,  children  have  been, 
under  just  such  circumstances,  turned  to  Grod,  and  led  to  be- 
gin a  service  which  they  are  still  continuing  in  heaven.  Many 
children  have  thus  been  reconciled  to  God,  when  they  were 
too  young  to  know  any  thing  about  the  source  of  spiritual  life 
within  them,  or  even  the  existence  of  that  Savior,  through 
whose  death  alone,  they  were  finally  declared  justified  and 
forgiven. 

There  are  many  modes  by  which  the  human  soul  may  be 
shut  up  in  darkness,  besides  through  the  weakness  and  im- 
maturity of  infantile  powers.  There  are  the  inveterate  pre- 
judices of  an  erroneous  education,  the  influence  of  mistaken 
friends,  the  colored  medium  through  which  religious  truth  is 
seen,  or  distortions  and  interruptions  of  various  kinds  in  the 
channels  by  which  it  is  conveyed  to  them.  If  now,  in  any 
such  case,  means  can  be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  heart,  so 
as  by  divine  assistance  to  awaken  any  one  Christian  grace, — 
any  single  truly  Christian  feeling, — ^the  danger  is  over.  A 
stone  is  taken  out  of  the  firmly-compacted  arch  of  impeni- 
tence and  sin,  and  the  whole  structure  must  crumble  down. 
Listening  to  arguments  for  the  truth  will  often  confirm  men 
in  error,  but  doing  their  duty  will  inevitably  break  the  chain. 
"  If  any  man  will  do  his  will,"  said  Jesus,  "  he  shall  know 
of  the  doctrine ;"  and  it  would  be  well  if  speculating,  doubt- 
ing inquirers  everywhere  would  learn  from  it,  that  practical 
obedience  should  come  before  speculations  in  theology  — that 


HUMAN    DITTY. 


97 


The  various  ways  of  turning  to  Gkxi. 


they  had  better  begin  to  do  Grod's  will  first,  and  discuss  the 
principles  of  his  government  afterward. 

But  we  are  wandering  from  our  subject,  which  is  the  fact 
that  Jesus  Christ  spent  all  his  strength  in  inducing  men  to 
submit  in  heart  to  God,  and  to  keep  his  holy  law,  and  that 
if  he  found  them  in  heart  willing  to  do  this,  he  was  but  little 
solicitous  about  the  precise  act  by  which  the  new  life  should 
begin.  These  acts  were  various  then,  and  they  are  various 
now.  A  young  man, 
for  example,  having 
hesitated  between  the 
service  of  his  Maker 
and  the  service  of  sin, 
walks  out  alone  on  a 
summer's  evening  up- 
on the  sea-shore,  and 
there,  while  meditating 
upon  his  character  and 
condition,  he  resolves 
that  he  will  hesitate 
no  longer,  but  that  he 
will  return  to  his  Ma- 
ker;  and  he  utters  with 
honest  sincerity,  and 
from    his    heart,     the 

Lord's  prayer, — language  which  he  has  often  uttered,  though 
without  feeling,  before.  His  first  Christian  exercise  is  prayer. 
Another,  is  overwhelmed  with  conviction  of  sin ;  and  suffers 
hour  after  hour,  or  day  after  day,  under  its  oppressive  load. 
At  last  his  heart  suddenly  feels,  and  appreciates,  and  re- 
joices in,  the  goodness  and  holiness  against  which  he  has 
been  contending ;  he  bursts  forth  in  ascriptions  of  praise,  and 
all  nature  seems  to  become  suddenly  resplendent  with  his 
Maker's  glory.     His  first  Christian  feeling  is  joy     Another's 

E 


THE    WALK. 


98  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Forms  and  ceremonies.  Do  this. 

heart  melts  into  godly  and  heartfelt  sorrow  for  its  sins ;  the 
first  renewed  emotion  in  this  case,  is  penitence.  There  is  no 
end  to  the  variety  of  forms  which  the  movements  of  spiritual 
life  assumes  ;  and  Jesus  Christ,  while  he  most  vigorously  in 
sisted  that  there  should  be  real,  genuine,  heartfelt  obedience 
to  The  Law,  attached  no  importance  to  the  particular  act 
by  which  it  should  first  be  rendered. 

There  is  one  subject  more,  which  must  be  considered  here. 
I  refer  to  the  view  which  our  Savior  took  of  the  forms  and 
ceremonies  of  religion.  His  principle  was  this.  He  devoted 
all  his  strength  to  secure  spiritual  principles  ;  and  in  regard 
to  all  its  ceremonial  aspects,  he  left  religion  to  accommodate 
itself  to  the  varying  tastes  and  habits  of  mankind,  and  to  the 
changing  customs  and  states  of  society,  which  the  progress 
of  time  occasions.  It  is  remarkable  how  little  he  specified 
in  respect  to  modes  and  forms.  He  did  not  even  arrange 
any  form  of  church  government  for  his  own  times,  nor  give 
any  specific  directions  in  regard  to  any  christian  ceremonies ; 
an  example  unparalleled,  we  believe,  among  the  founders 
of  religions.  There  is  something  peculiarly  striking  in  this 
point  of  view,  in  his  manner  of  instituting  the  celebration 
of  the  supper.  Instead  of  having  a  sort  of  code  drawn  up, 
specifying  the  various  parts  of  the  ceremony,  the  kind  of 
elements  to  be  used,  the  frequency  of  the  performances,  and 
the  various  attending  circumstances, — he  simply  says,  at  the 
close  of  his  last  supper,  as  they  were  about  to  depart, — "  Do 
this  in  remembrance  of  me."  This.  One  word  contains  the 
whole  description.  He  could  not  have  left  it  more  vaguely 
and  indefinitely  expressed ;  and  they  who  press  the  forms  of 
Christianity,  while  they  forget  its  spirit,  can  not  be  more 
pointedly  reproved  than  by  asking  them  to  contrast  the 
clearness,  the  point,  the  emphasis,  the  discriminating  preci 
sion,  with  which  Christ  pressed  spiritual  duties  upon  men, 
with  the  unconcerned  and  almost  careless  air,  with  which 


i 


HUMAN   DUTY.  99 


Practice  of  the  apostles.  Example  of  Christ.  Changes 

he  dismissed  the  whole  subject  of  the  most  solemn  ceremony 
which  he  established,  with,  "  Do  this,  in  remembrance  of 
me." 

After  our  Savior's  death,  the  apostles,  animated  by  the 
same  spirit,  gradually  established  modes  of  church  govern- 
ment  for  the  exigencies  of  their  own  times.  They  modified 
them  as  occasion  required,  and  so  careful  were  they  to  leave 
no  record  of  a  mode,  which  might  subsequently  be  made  a 
rule,  that  no  ingenuity  has  been  able  to  make  out  any 
one  consistent  system,  from  the  various  partial  directions 
which  they  gave.  And  even  could  this  be  done,  it  would 
be  no  authority  for  us.  I  repeat  it, — if  a  clear  and  consistent 
system  of  church  government  and  of  modes  of  worship 
could  be  deduced  from  the  practice  merely  of  the  apostles,  it 
would  be  no  rule  for  us.  We  are  bound  to  believe  the  asser- 
tions of  inspired  men,  but  not  by  any  means  to  imitate  their 
practice.  Their  practice  was  often  wrong  ;  though  this  is 
not  what  we  here  refer  to.  It  is  because  the  circumstances 
in  which  they  were  placed, — the  state  of  society  and  the  con- 
dition of  the  world, — were  peculiar,  and  from  the  very  nature 
of  the  case,  they  must  have  been  left  to  make  arrangements 
adapted  to  their  circumstances,  but  which  would  be  inex- 
pedient in  ours.  Their  practice,  therefore,  even  where  we 
admit  that  they  were  right,  is'  of  no  binding  obligation  on  us. 
So  that,  though  we  are  required  to  believe  what  the  apostles 
said,  we  are  not  required  to  do  what  they  did,  unless  we  are 
placed  in  the  same  circumstances  with  them.  In  fact,  if  we 
are  to  go  back  at  all,  for  the  authority  of  practice,  on  this 
subject,  we  ought  to  go  back  to  the  fountain-head,  and  imi- 
tate the  Savior  himself;  that  is,  employ  none  hut  itinerant 
preachers,  and  send  them  out  two  and  two  I  The  conclu- 
sion is  irresistible. 

No.  Nothing  can  be  plainer,  than  that  Jesus  Christ  meant 
to  secure  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  and  to  leave  to  each  age 


100  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Changes  necessary.  Common  error.  One  great  denomination. 


and  nation,  the  regulation  of  its  forms.  He  adopted  one 
mode, — the  one  suited  to  his  purpose.  His  apostles  imme- 
diately adopted  another,  which  they  changed  as  circumstances 
required  ;  and  it  has  gone  on  changing  ever  since,  and  it  will 
go  on  changing  probably  until  the  millennium,  when  modes  and 
forms  of  worship  will  be  as  various  and  as  unnumbered,  as 
the  domestic  and  social  customs,  of  the  human  race,  divided 
as  it  is,  into  a  thousand  nations  and  dwelling  in  every  va- 
riety of  region  and  clime. 

The  narrow-minded  view,  which  would  have  fixed  in 
Judea,  eighteen  centuries  ago,  a  system  of  organization  to  be 
adopted  by  all  the  races  of  men,  and  to  continue  unchanged 
for  forty  centuries,  would  have  worked  incalculable  mischief 
Emergencies  continually  occur,  demanding  new  efibrts,  on 
new  or  modified  plans.  Sometimes  great  denominations 
arise  thus,  and  accomplish  what  existing  organizations  could 
not  have  effected.  At  other  times,  gradual  political  changes 
so  alter  the  genius,  and  character,  and  habits  of  a  people, 
that  the  external  form  in  which  Christianity  embodies  itself 
must  change  too.  It  is  the  spirit  alone  that  remains  station- 
ary and  common  in  all. 

And  yet  nine  tenths  of  nominal  Christians,  all  over  the 
world,  are  firmly  believing  and  sincerely  wishing,  that  their 
own  denomination  may  extend  and  swallow  up  the  rest,  and 
become  universal.  But  let  us  consider  a  moment,  what 
would  be  the  result,  if  such  were  the  case.  That  one  uni- 
versal denomination  would  soon  have  leaders.  It  might,  or 
might  not  be  so  constituted,  as  to  have  them  in  name  and 
office,  but  it  certainly  would  have  them  in  reality.  Grant, 
if  you  please,  that  the  first  set  of  leaders  are  really  humble, 
devoted,  honest  Christians  ;  what  sort  of  men  would  be  am- 
bitiously looking  up  to  their  posts,  and  beginning  to  struggle 
and  crowd  for  the  succession  ?  Why  there  can  be  no  moral 
effect  more  certain,  than  that  in  such  a  case,  four  or  five 


HUMAN    DUTY.  10 1 


Disastrous  results.  Spirit  of  Christianity. 

generations  would  place  worldly,  selfish,  ambitious  men  at  the 
head  of  the  religious  interests  of  the  world  !  We  have  had 
one  terrible  experiment  of  the  effects  of  one  great  denomina- 
tion, to  illustrate  this  reasoning.  God  grant  that  the  dark 
day  may  never  come  again. 

It  was  thus  the  spirit  of  Christianity  only  that  our  Savior 
urged.  He  proclaimed  forgiveness  to  all  who  would  abandon 
their  sins,  and  return  to  God,  and  obey  the  great  moral  law, 
which  had  been  enacted  for  the  general  happiness.  He  pro- 
claimed the  fact  that  forgiveness  was  sure,  and  thus  opened 
the  door  of  hope  to  every  man ;  but  he  did  not  say  much 
about  the  dark  path  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  which  he  should 
himself  have  to  tread,  in  order  to  open  the  way.  It  seems  as 
if,  with  the  delicacy  which  always  characterizes  ardent  love, 
he  would  not  inform  men  of  the  sufferings  which  he  was 
about  to  bear  for  them.  He  assured  them  they  might  be  for- 
given, but  he  never  reminded  them  of  their  obligations  to 
him  for  purchasing  their  pardon.  Even  his  disciples,  till  they 
came  to  see  him  die,  had  no  conception  of  his  love.  They 
learned  it  at  last,  however.  They  saw  him  suffer,  and  inspi- 
ration from  above  explained  to  them  something  about  the 
influence  of  his  death.  They  had  enjoyed  its  benefits  long  be- 
fore, in  peace  with  God,  forgiveness  of  sin,  and  hope  of  heaven ; 
but  now  for  the  first  time,  they  understood  how  those  benefits 
were  procured.  It  is  hard  to  say  which  touches  our  grati- 
tude most  sensibly ;  the  ardent  love  which  led  him  to  do 
what  he  did,  or  the  delicacy  with  which  he  refrained  from 
speaking  of  it,  to  those  who  were  to  reap  its  fruits.  He  did 
all  that  he  could  to  save  men,  and  in  his  interviews  with 
them,  spent  his  time  in  endeavoring  to  persuade  them  to  con 
sent  to  be  saved.    His  sufferings  he  left  to  tell  their  own  story 


102  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


[uman  nature.  The  way  to  study  it.  The  village.  Morning. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

HUMAN   NATURE,  OR  THE  SAVIOR's  RECEPTION  AMONG  MANKIND. 
"  We  will  not  have  this  man  to  reign  over  ua." 

In  the  last  chapter  we  considei:ed  our  Savior  simply  as  a 
Teacher ;  hereafter  we  shall  have  occasion  to  look  at  him 
more  particularly  as  a  sufferer.  In  the  mean  time,  we  must 
devote  a  few  pages  to  consider  the  reception,  which  the 
principles  of  duty  which  he  inculcated  meet  with  among 
men. 

This  brings  us  at  once  to  the  study  of  human  nature  ; — 
and  the  proper  way  to  study  human  nature,  is  to  look  at  it 
as  it  exhibits  itself  in  the  actual  conduct  of  mankind.  If  we 
examine  it  thus,  we  shall  find  it  presenting  itself  in  a  great 
many  alluring  aspects.  Look,  for  instance,  at  any  of  those 
quiet  villages  which  may  be  found  by  thousands  in  every 
Christian  land.  When  day  dawns,  the  gray  light  looks  into 
the  windows  of  a  hundred  dwellings,  where  honest  industry 
has  been  enjoying  repose.  The  population  is  grouped  into 
famiUes,  according  to  the  arrangement  which  God  has  made, 
and  while  the  eastern  sky  reddens  and  glows  by  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  approaching  sun,  there  is,  in  every  dwelling,  a 
mother,  actively  engaged  in  providing  for  the  morning  wants 
of  the  household  which  God  has  committed  to  her  care. 
There  is  a  tie  around  her  heart,  binding  her  to  her  husband, 
her  children,  her  home,  and  to  all  the  domestic  duties  which 
devolve  upon  her.     These  duties  she  goes  on  to  discharge, 


1 


HUMAN   NATURE.  103 


The  wife  and  mother.  Indiistry. 

though  they  are  ever  renewed  and  ever  the  same.  She  does 
it  day  after  day, — three  hundred  and  sixty-five  times  this 
year,  and  as  many  more  the  next,  and  the  next,  perhaps  for 
half  a  century.  What  patience  !  What  persevering  indus- 
try !  and  all,  not  for  herself,  hut  for  others. 

At  the  proper  time,  all  the  families  of  the  village  assemble, 
each  in  its  own  quiet  home,  to  receive  their  food.  The 
breakfast  hour  for  one,  is  the  breakfast  hour  for  all.  Each 
conforms  to  the  customs  of  the  others,  with  as  much  regular- 
ity as  if  these  customs  were  enforced  by  penal  laws.  Every 
one  is  at  liberty,  and  yet,  in  all  the  important  arrangements 
of  life,  they  all  agree.  And  how  is  this  agreement  produced  ? 
By  the  regard  which  every  one  has  for  the  opinions  and  feel- 
ings of  the  rest ;  a  feeling  which  we  can  not  but  look  upon 
with  pleasure  ;  and  it  reigns  in  all  human  communities,  and 
has  almost  boundless  power  in  regulating  established  cus- 
toms, and  preserving  the  order  of  society. 

We  next  see  our  villagers  going  forth  to  their  respective 
labors.  You  will  observe  them  issuing  from  their  various 
dwellings,  and  repairing  to  their  work,  with  as  much  regu- 
larity as  if  on  a  preconcerted  signal.  The  mechanics  go  to 
their  shops,  the  tradesman  to  his  store,  and  the  farmers  to 
their  fields  ;  and  though  there  may  be  here  and  there  an  ex- 
ception, they  continue  their  toil  as  industriously  as  if  their 
motions  were  watched,  and  all  their  actions  controlled  by 
masters,  who  had  the  right  and  the  power  to  exact  from  them 
a  stated  daily  task.  And  this  course  of  daily  active  industry 
is  persevered  in  through  life,  and  all  the  means  of  comfort 
and  enjoyment,  which  it  procures,  are  frugally  husbanded. 
Sickness,  death,  calamity,  may  produce  an  occasional  inter- 
ruption, and  even  paralyze,  for  a  time,  all  interest  in  worldly 
pursuits  and  duties  ;  but  the  elastic  spirit  rises  again,  when 
the  severity  of  pressure  is  removed,  and  again  finds  occupa- 
tion and  enjoyment  in  its  daily  routine. 


104  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Beneyolence.  Exceptions  rare.  Moral  beauty. 

The  moral  beauty  of  it  all  consists  in  the  fact,  that  each 
man  labors  thus  industriously,  day  after  day,  and  year  after 
year,  not  mainly  for  himself,  but  for  others.  Each  has,  upon 
an  average,  four  or  five,  who  are  dependents  upon  him,  and 
it  is  for  them  mainly,  and  not  for  himself,  that  he  confines 
himself  so  constantly  to  his  daily  toil. 

There  may  be  exceptions.  Here  and  there  one  is  idle  and 
dissolute,  leaving  the  inmates  of  his  wretched  home  to  mourn 
the  guilt  of  the  husband  and  father,  and  to  feel  its  bitter  con- 
sequences. But  it  is  only  here  and  there  one  ;  and  in  almost 
every  such  case  the  ills  which  the  sufferers  would  otherwise 
have  to  bear,  are  very  much  alleviated  by  the  assistance  of 
neighbors,  who  can  not  well  enjoy  their  own  comforts  at 
their  own  homes,  until  they  have  relieved  the  pressure  of 
want  that  is  so  near  them.  The  great  majority  however  are 
faithful  to  their  trust ;  held  to  duty,  not  by  compulsion,  nor 
by  fear  of  penalty,  but  by  a  tie  which  God  has  fastened 
round  the  heart,  and  whose  control  men  love  to  obey. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  say  that  there  is  no  virtue  in  all 
this  seeming  benevolence,  because  such  is  the  nature  of  the 
tie,  by  which  the  father  and  the  mother  are  bound  to  their 
household,  that  the  faithful  discharge  of  their  own  domestic 
duties  is  the  way  to  secure  the  highest  and  purest  happiness 
to  themselves.  It  is  so,  undoubtedly  ;  and  this  is  in  fact  the 
very  moral  beauty  which  we  have  been  endeavoring  to  point 
out,  that  in  a  case  of  such  universal  application,  the  human 
heart  is  such,  that  it  can  find,  and  does  find,  its  own  purest 
and  highest  enjoyment  in  unceasing  efforts  to  promote  the 
enjoyment  of  others. 

Thus  the  day  passes  on  in  our  peaceful,  quiet  village  ;  the 
evening  brings  recreation  of  various  kinds  ;  some  indeed  seek 
guilty  pleasures,  but  far  the  greater  number  find  happiness 
at  home.  Night  brings  universal  repose,  the  members  of 
each  family  sleeping  quietly  under  their  own  roof,  "  with 


HUMAN  NATURE.  105 


Night.  The  sick  child.  The  proposaL 

none  to  molest  or  make  them  afraid."  Or  if  there  is  a  soli- 
tary one,  who  prowls  about  at  midnight,  to  steal,  or  burn,  or 
kill,  he  is  but  one  among  a  thousand, — a  rare  and  abhorred 
exception  to  the  general  rule. 

If  among  the  families  forming  this  peaceful  community, 
there  is  one  whose  members,  by  unavoidable  misfortune,  or 
even  by  their  own  improvidence  or  neglect,  have  been  re- 
duced to  want,  those  around  them  will  not  allow  them  to 
suffer.  Either  by  the  spontaneous  impulse  of  individual 
charity,  or  by  a  systematic  arrangement  in  which  all  com- 
bine, ample  provision  is  made  for  these  wants.  Food,  cloth- 
ing, and  shelter  are  provided  for  those  who  can  not  provide 
them  for  themselves,  that  there  may  be  no  exception  to  the 
general  comfort  and  happiness. 

Perhaps,  however,  under  one  roof  there  is  sickness.  A 
pale  and  feeble  child,  who  has  been  a  source  of  unceasing 
anxiety  and  trouble  to  his  parents  from  his  very  birth,  lies  in 
his  little  couch,  restless  and  feverish,  under  an  attack  of  some 
new  disease. 

"  Mother,  your  sleep  has  been  disturbed  long  enough  by 
its  restlessness  and  its  cries.  Carry  it  away  to  some  remote 
apartment,  and  leave  it  there,  to  moan  alone  under  its  suffer- 
ings, so  that  you  may  sleep,  for  once,  undisturbed.  If  it 
should  die  before  the  morning,  you  will  only  be  relieved  of  a 
continual  and  heavy  burden." 

"  Father,  leave  the  little  sufferer  to  its  fate.  You  will 
then  sleep  quietly  through  the  night,  and  the  necessity  for 
toil  will  be  diminished  on  the  morrow.  Why  should  you 
take  such  pains,  and  bear  such  watching  and  such  fatigue 
for  this  child  ?  Even  if  he  lives,  he  will  never  repay  you  ; 
but  as  soon  as  he  becomes  a  man,  he  will  go  out  from  your 
roof,  away  into  the  world,  and  you  will  see  him  no  more. 
Abandon  the  little  sufferer,  therefore,  now  ; — send  him  away 
to  a  distant  room  and  leave  him." 


106 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Watchfulness. 


Moral  beauty. 


THE   MOTHER. 


The  proposal  makes 
father  and  mother  cling 
still  more  closely  to 
their  suffering  child, 
and  when  at  midnight 
every  house  in  the  vil- 
lage seems  desolate 
and  still,  you  will  see 
from  the  two  windows 
of  their  chamber,  the 
glow  of  lamp  and  fire 
within,  contrasted  with 
the  cold  white  light, 
with  which  the  moon 
silvers  the  windows  of 
other  dwellings.  In 
that  chamber  the  sleep- 
less mother  watches,  with  love  which  no  sacrifices .  can  ex- 
haust, and  no  protracted  efforts  tire.  It  expands  to  meet 
every  emergency,  and  rises  higher  and  higher,  in  exact  pro- 
portion to  the  wants  and  sufferings  of  its  feeble  object.  The 
light  will  continue  at  those  windows,  till  the  morning  dawn 
extinguishes  it ;  and  as  long  as  the  loved  object  needs  this 
watchfulness  and  care,  those  windows  will  show  the  same 
signal  of  sickness  and  suffering,  as  regularly  and  as  constantly 
as  night  returns. 

There  is  a  great  moral  beauty  in  this, — and  in  all  those 
principles  of  human  nature,  by  which  heart  is  bound  to 
heart,  and  communities  are  linked  together,  in  bonds  of  peace 
and  harmony,  and  of  mutual  co-operation  and  good- will. 
Some  persons  may  indeed  say  that  there  is  nothing  of  a  moral 
character  in  it.  We  will  not  contend  for  a  word.  There  is 
beauty  in  it  of  some  sort,  it  is  certain ;  for  he  who  can  look 
upon  these,  and  similar  aspects  of  human  character,  without 


1 


HUMAN  NATURE.  107 


[ 


Human  virtue.  Its  two  foundationa. 

some  gratification,  is  not  human.  It  is  beauty  of  some  sort, 
and  it  is  neither  physical  nor  intellectual  beauty  ;  if  any  man 
chooses  to  apply  some  other  term  than  moral  to  characterize 
it,  we  will  not  contend.     At  any  rate,  it  is  human  nature. 

But  nearly  all  that  there  is  which  appears  alluring  in  the 
above  views,  or  any  other  views,  which  can  be  taken  of  hu- 
man nature,  when  left  to  itself,  is  to  be  resolved  into  two 
principles.  And  these  principles  are  such  that  if  virtue  can 
be  based  upon  them  at  all,  it  is  certainly  virtue  of  the  lowest 
character.  The  principles  are  these.  Natural  Affection,  and 
Policy  ;  the  two  foundations  on  which  rest  nine  tenths  of  all 
which  is  called  virtue  in  this  world.  There  is,  indeed, 
among  men,  a  vast  amount  of  industry  and  frugality  ;  of 
faithful  domestic  attachment,  and  persevering  performance 
of  the  ordinary  duties  of  life  ;  there  is  honesty,  and  conscien- 
tiousness, and  a  certain  dislike  of  suffering,  which  leads  to 
many  efforts  to  remove  or  alleviate  it.  But  after  all, — for 
we  must,  to  be  honest,  come  to  the  unpleasant  conclusion, — 
nearly  the  whole  has  its  only  basis  in  feelings  of  natural 
affection,  or  on  views  of  enlightened  policy.  The  results  are 
beautiful ;  they  are  essential  to  the  well-being,  and  almost 
to  the  existence  of  society,  but  when  we  come  honestly  to 
analyze  their  causes,  we  shall  see  that  instinctive  affection 
and  views  of  policy  produce  nearly  the  whole.  God  has 
taken  care  so  to  form  the  human  heart,  and  so  to  constitute 
communities,  that  these  influences  of  natural  affection  and 
these  considerations  of  policy  shall  be  enough,  in  ordinary  in- 
stances, to  protect  the  outward  frame-work  of  society.  This 
outward  frame- work,  therefore,  is  sustained  very  well.  The 
rest, — all  that  is  within,  the  region  of  the  heart,  the  private 
feelings  and  private  conduct  between  man  and  man,  he  has 
attempted  to  regulate  by  his  law.  And  what  is  the  conse- 
quence ?     Why  what  he  impels  man  to  do,  by  fixed  and 


108  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

The  village  examined.  Real  characters. 


certain  constitutional  tendencies,  and  what  he  makes  it 
plainly  his  interest  to  do,  that  is  done.  But  all  the  rest  fails. 
His  laws  are  broken,  his  authority  contemned,  and  though 
the  exterior  fabric  of  society  is  protected,  as  we  have  seen, 
and  presents  so  beautiful  and  imposing  an  aspect,  the  heart 
sickens  as  we  look  at  what  is  within. 

Take  our  village  for  instance.  If  we  look  at  its  exterior 
arrangements,  how  fair  it  seems.  But  the  reader  would  shut 
this  book  in  displeasure  at  its  harshness,  if  I  were  to  describe, 
with  any  thing  like  fairness,  the  feelings  and  emotions  which 
really  reign  in  the  hearts  of  its  inhabitants.  The  children 
all  know  that  God  their  Maker  has  said  to  them,  "  you  shall 
not  disobey  your  father  and  mother."  They  care  no  more 
for  the  injunction  than  for  the  idle  wind.  The  mother  who 
watches  over  her  sick  child,  has  perhaps  a  heart  rising  against 
Grod,  repining  and  unsubmissive.  It  seems  to  be  an  honest 
village,  for  the  inhabitants  do  not  rob  or  murder  each  other 
in  the  night ;  and  yet  there  is  not  a  man  who  will  trust  his 
neighbor  to  make  a  bargain  without  watching  his  own  inter- 
ests .  in  it  with  the  utmost  eagerness.  They  seem  to  be  be- 
nevolent ;  that  is,  they  can  not  bear  to  witness  any  physical 
suffering,  and  they  take  measures  to  alleviate  or  remove  it. 
The  amount  of  real  heartfelt  benevolence  among  them  is 
shown  by  this  fact :  that  if  any  man  comes  forward  with  a 
plan  for  doing  good,  and  asks  the  co-operation  of  his  neigh- 
bors, nine  out  of  ten  of  them  will  believe  that  the  interest  of 
the  solicitor  is  in  some  way  or  other  directly  connected  with  the 
scheme,  and  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  they  will  be 
right !  Such  a  view  of  human  character,  on  paper,  is  ob- 
jected to,  and  opposed  by  many  ;  but  still  they  know  that 
it  is  in  fact  true.  The  very  men  who  object  to  it  act  on 
the  presumption  of  its  truth,  in  all  their  dealings  with  others ; 
and  their  knowledge  of  mankind  is  abundantly  sufficient  to 
convince  them,  that  if  the  hearts  of  the  inhabitants  of  any 


HUMAN    NATURE.  109 


The  poat-ofiace.  Apparent  virtue. 


village  could  be  really  unmasked,  they  would  present  such 
disclosures  of  euAry,  malice,  strife,  selfishness,  ill-will,  pride, 
and  revenge,  as  would  justify  the  strongest  language  which 
could  possibly  be  used  to  describe  them. 

It  is  astonishing  what  beautiful,  what  admirable  results. 
may  be  secured  in  human  society,  by  the  operation  of  these 
natural  impulses  and  views  of  policy,  while  each  individual 
of  the  community  may  be  the  abandoned  slave  of  sin.  The 
Ibllowing  is  a  striking  illustration  of  it.  A  man  may  drop  a 
letter  containing  a  hundred  dollar  bill,  into  any  post-office  in 
the  country.  He  slips  it  through  a  little  aperture,  and  does 
not  know  who  is  on  the  other  side.  The  man  who  takes  it 
up  is  a  stranger.  He  passes  it  into  the  hands  of  another 
stranger  ;  and  thus  it  goes  from  hand  to  hand,  from  driver 
to  driver,  and  clerk  to  clerk,  for  a  thousand  miles,  and  at  last 
his  correspondent  safely  receives  the  money  from  some  one, 
he  knows  not  whom.  And  what  has  been  its  protection  ?  A 
sheet  of  paper,  fastened  with  a  little  colored  paste  ;  or  in  its 
condition  of  greatest  security,  a  leather  bag,  closed  by  a  lock, 
which  any  stone  by  the  side  of  the  road  would  shatter  to 
pieces.  The  treasure  is  thus  carried  over  solitary  roads, 
through  forests,  and  among  the  mountains ;  and  is  passed 
from  one  hand  to  another,  in  a  state  of  what  would  seem  to 
be  most  complete  exposure.  What  honest  men  these  agents 
thus  trusted,  must  be  !  is  the  first  reflection.  Honest  I  Why 
the  writer  of  the  letter  would  not  really  trust  a  tenth  part  of 
the  sum  to  the  honesty  of  a  single  one  of  them.  They  may 
be  honest,  or  they  may  not,  but  the  careless  observer  who 
should  attribute  the  safe  result  to  the  honesty  of  the  men, 
would  be  most  grossly  deceived.  It  is  an  adroit  arrange- 
ment,— most  admirably  and  skillfully  planned  by  human 
wisdom,  and  acting  by  means  of  principles  which  God  has 
implanted, — that  secures  the  result.  The  merchant  trusts 
the  money  to  agents  whom  he  does  not  know,  not  because  he 


110  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


No  real  diflference  of  opinion  about  human  character. 

thinks  they  are  honest,  but  because  he  knows  they  are  imse  ; 
he  relies  on  human  nature,  but  it  is  the  shrewd  policy  of  hu- 
man nature, — not  its  sense  of  justice. 

Forgetting  this  distinction  has  been  the  means  of  a  great 
proportion  of  the  disputes  which  have  raged  in  the  world 
about  human  character.  In  philosophizing  upon  the  subject, 
a  writer  of  a  poetic  turn  is  deluded  by  the  beauty,  the  moral 
beauty,  we  may  perhaps  safely  say,  of  results,  which  really 
depend  on  very  different  principles  in  human  hearts,  from, 
what  they  seem  to  indicate.  They  who  have  the  most  ro- 
mantic ideas  of  human  nature  in  theory,  do  not  fail  of  being 
sufficiently  guarded  and  suspicious  in  their  dealings  with 
mankind  ;  or  if  they  do,  they  soon  inevitably  become  soured 
by  disappointed  hopes,  and  while  they  panegyrize  the  race  in 
the  mass,  they  bitterly  accuse  and  reproach  it  in  detail.  Be- 
sides, there  is  one  proof,  and  that  on  a  most  extensive  scale, 
of  the  real  nature  of  worldly  virtue ;  it  is  this, — a  fact 
which  no  man  competent  to  judge  will  deny, — that  all  the 
arrangements  of  business  in  every  community,  and  in  every 
scheme  of  government  which  was  ever  formed  by  human 
skill,  go  on  the  plan  of  making  it  for  the  interest  of  men  to 
do  right,  and  not  on  the  plan  of  confidence  in  the  integrity 
and  moral  principle  of  their  hearts.  A  government  and  a 
system  of  institutions  based  on  the  idea  that  men  were,  in  a 
majority  of  cases,  disposed  to  do  their  duty  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, could  not  stand  a  day. 

But  all  this  is  not  the  worst.  It  is  not  the  falseness  and 
hollowness  of  worldly  virtues,  nor  the  vices  of  heart  and  life 
which  prevail  everywhere  among  men,  which  are  the  great 
subjects  of  the  charge  which  God  makes  against  us.  It  is 
another  thing  altogether, — viz.,  that  men  will  not  submit 
TO  THE  REIGN  OF  GoD  OVER  THEM.  This  IS  their  Settled, 
determined,  universal  decision.  It  is  called  in  the  Bible  by 
various  names — such  as  ungodliness,  rebellion,  unbelief,  en- 


HUMAN    NATURE.  Ill 


Alienation  from  God:  settled  and  universal. 


mity  against  God,  and  many  others.  Jehovah  has  proclaimed 
a  law;  men  disobey  it  altogether.  They  do,  indeed,  some 
things  which  are  commanded  in  that  law,  but  then  it  is  only 
because  to  do  those  things  happens  to  suit  their  convenience. 
He  says  to  us  that  we  are  not  our  own  but  his ; — we  pay  no 
regard  to  it,  but  go  on  serving  ourselves.  He  says  to  us  that 
all  will  soon  be  over  with  us  in  this  world,  and  that  in  a 
very  short  time  we  must  stand  in  judgment  before  him. 
Who  believes  it  ?  He  charges  the  man  of  wealth  to  act  as 
his  Maker's  steward  in  managing  his  property,  and  sacredly 
to  appropriate  it  to  his  cause ;  the  wealthy  man  regards  it 
just  as  much  as  he  would  a  similar  claim  from  the  beggar 
in  the  street.  He  calls  upon  men  of  rank  and  influence  to 
glorify  him  by  exhibiting  pure  and  holy  lives  in  the  conspic- 
uous stations  in  which  he  has  placed  them ;  look  at  the 
princes  and  nobles,  the  legislators  and  statesmen  of  this 
world,  and  see  how  they  obey.  By  his  word  and  by  his 
spirit  he  tells  us  of  our  undying  souls,  of  the  value  of  holi- 
ness and  spiritual  peace,  and  of  the  deep  guilt  of  sin,  of 
mercy  through  a  Savior,  and  of  eternal  life  with  him  in 
heaven ;  men  turn  away  from  such  subjects  in  utter  con- 
tempt. These  topics,  whenever  introduced  among  the  vulgar 
classes  of  society,  will  ordinarily  be  received  with  open  de- 
rision and  scorn  ;  and  the  refined  circles  of  society,  with  as 
decided,  though  with  a  little  more  polite  hostility,  will  not 
allow  their  introduction.  There  seems  to  be  as  real  and 
certain,  and  determined  a  combination  am.ong  men,  to  ex- 
clude God  and  his  law,  from  any  actual  control  over  human 
hearts,  as  if  the  standard  of  open  rebellion  was  raised,  and 
there  were  gathering  around  it  all  the  demonstrations  of 
physical  resistance. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  the  reason  why  subjects  connect- 
ed with  God  and  religion  are  so  excluded  from  conversation 
in  polite  circles  of  society,  is  the  fact,  that  when  such  sub 


112  THE    CORNER-STONE, 


Evidences.  Use  of  God's  name.  False  religions. 


jects  are  introduced,  they  are  so  often  the  cloak  of  hypocrisy 
and  deceit.  I  know  it  is  so,  and  this  fact  constitutes  the 
most  complete  and  overwhelming  evidence  of  the  extent  to 
which  this  world  is  alienated  from  God.  Even  what  little 
professed  regard  there  is  for  him  here,  is,  two  thirds  of  it, 
hypocrisy  !  This  is,  in  fact,  what  the  objection  implies  ;  and 
what  a  story  does  it  tell,  in  regard  to  the  place  which  God 
holds  in  human  hearts.  No.  As  men  have  generally  made 
up  their  minds  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  God,  they  are 
determined  to  hear  nothing  about  him,  unless  it  be  in  such 
general  terms,  and  in  such  formal  ways,  as  shall  not  be  in 
danger  of  making  an  impression.  We  may  almost  wonder 
how  eternal  justice  can  spare  this  earth  from  day  to  day, 
when  we  reflect  upon  what  is  unquestionably  the  awful  fact, 
that  throughout  all  those  countries  where  the  true  God  is 
known,  in  four  cases  out  of  five  in  which  his  name  is  men- 
tioned at  all,  it  is  used  in  oaths  and  blasphemies. 

The  world  has  been  full  of  religions,  it  is  true  :  but  they 
have  been  the  schemes  of  designing  men,  to  gain  an  ascend- 
ency over  the  ignorant,  by  deceiving  and  bribing  that  con- 
science which  God  has  placed  in  every  heart  to  testify  for 
him.  It  has  been  the  studied  aim  of  these  religions  to  evade 
the  obligation  of  moral  law,  and  the  authority  of  a  pure  and 
holy,  and  spiritual  Deity.  They  substitute  for  these  a  sys- 
tem of  empty  rites  and  ceremonies,  in  order  to  divert  the 
attention  of  the  sentry  which  God  has  stationed  in  the  soul, 
while  all  the  unholy  lusts  and  passions  are  left  unrestrained. 
The  case  of  the  Pharisees  presents  a  specimen  which  will 
answer  for  all.  Unjust  and  cruel  toward  men,  unfaithful 
and  unbelieving  toward  God,  and  habitually  violating  and 
trampling  under  foot  the  whole  spirit  of  his  law,  they  would 
go  out  into  their  gardens,  and  carefully  take  one  tenth  of 
every  little  herb  which  grew  there ;  and  this  they  would 
carry  with  ridiculous  solemnity,  to  the    temple  of  God,  to 


HUMAN    NATURE.  113 


The  door  of  salvation  open.  Men  will  not  enter. 

show  their  exact  observance  of  his  commands  !  This  is  an 
admirable  example  of  the  spirit  and  nature  of  all  false  reli- 
gions. Men  will  do  any  thing  else  but  really  give  them- 
selves up  to  God.  They  w^ill  go  barefooted  to  Jerusalem,  for 
the  sake  of  being  sainted  on  their  return ;  they  will  fight 
under  the  crescent,  for  plunder  or  for  military  renown  ;  they 
will  build  churches  and  contribute  money  to  public  charities, 
from  a  hundred  different  motives ;  but  as  to  coming  and 
really  believing  all  that  God  has  said,  and  giving  up  the 
whole  soul  to  him,  entering  his  service,  and  looking  forward 
habitually  to  heaven  as  their  home,  they  will  not  do  it.  It 
has  been  proposed  to  them  again  and  again,  in  every  variety 
of  mode,  and  they  will  not  do  it.  The  prophets  proposed 
it.  Men  stoned  them.  Jesus  Christ  proposed  it.  They 
crucified  him.  The  apostles  and  their  immediate  successors 
proposed  it.  In  the  course  of  a  very  few  generations  they 
succeeded  in  bribing  them,  by  means  of  worldly  rewards  and 
honors,  to  pervert  their  message,  and  leave  the  world  undis- 
turbed in  its  sins. 

The  preceding  chapter  of  this  work  opened,  perhaps  the 
reader  thought,  a  very  broad  door  of  salvation,  and  would 
lead  one  to  ask,  who  can  help  being  saved.  It  was  indeed 
a  wide  door ;  one  which  all  might  enter ;  the  condition  sim- 
ple, and  universally  proclaimed.  "  Let  the  wicked  forsake 
his  way  and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts  :  and  let  him 
return  unto  the  Lord  and  he  will  have  mercy  upon  him ; 
and  to  our  God  for  he  will  abundantly  pardon."  "  In  every 
nation  he  that  feareth  God  and  worketh  righteousness,  is 
accepted  of  him."  But  the  difficulty  is,  that,  widely  ex- 
tended as  the  gates  of  salvation  are,  and  simple  as  is  the 
entrance,  men  will  not  come  in.  They  do  not  wish  to  be 
saved,  and  they  will  not  seek  salvation.  They  do  not  love 
holiness ;  they  do  not  like  the  idea  of  serving  God :  peni- 
tence, humility,  broken-hearted  submission  to  God's  will,  and 


1  14  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Insincerity  among  Christians.  Open  vice  and  criino. 

spiritual  peace  and  happiness,  they  do  not  like.  They  wifeh 
to  be  making  money,  or  gaining  admiration,  or  enjoying 
sensual  pleasure ;  and  persuasion  is  not  merely  insufficient 
to  change  them, — it  does  not  even  tend  to  change  them. 
You  can  not  change  the  desires  and  affections  of  the  heart 
by  persuasion.  No ;  plain,  and  simple,  and  open  to  every 
man,  as  is  the  way  of  life,  men  choose  another  way,  and  if 
the  few  imperfect  exceptions  which  exist,  were  not  accounted 
for  in  the  Bible,  we  should  be  utterly  unable  to  account  for 
them  at  all ;  so  fixed,  and  settled,  and  universal  a  character- 
istic it  is  of  human  nature,  to  wish  to  have,  in  this  life,  as 
little  as  possible  to  do  with  God  and  eternity.  Even  the 
little  love  to  God  and  submission  to  him  which  exists,  is  so 
adulterated  that  it  sCarce  deserves  the  name.  The  enemies 
of  religion  know  this  very  well.  They  charge  us  with  sel- 
fishness and  ambition  and  party  spirit,  as  the  real  springs  of 
a  large  portion  of  our  pretended  efforts  in  behalf  of  religion. 
And  they  are  right.  We  deny  it  in  our  eager  controversies 
with  our  foes,  but  every  true  Christian  acknowledges  and 
bewails  it  in  his  closet  before  God. 

We  see  thus  that  the  great,  the  destroying  guilt  of  human 
souls,  is  not  open  vice  and  crime,  but  determined  and  perse- 
vering alienation  from  God.  The  question  whether  a  person 
becomes  vicious  and  criminal  depends  almost  entirely  upon 
circumstances.  A  child  brought  up  in  the  cabin  of  a  smug- 
gler, or  on  board  a  piratical  ship,  will  almost  inevitably  be- 
come a  robber  or  murderer ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  the 
son  of  Christian  parents,  who  is  trained  up  properly  in  a 
Christian  land,  will  almost  as  inevitably  learn  to  respect  and 
obey  the  laws.  But  though  they  may  thus  widely  differ  in 
external  conduct,  they  may  both  reject,  with  equal  determi- 
nation, all  the  authority  of  God  over  them.     Both  are  equal- 


HUMAN    NATURE.  115 


Salvation  offered  to  children.  Its  reception.  The  little  child. 

ly  under  the  control  of  a  worldly  spirit,  though  they  gratify 
this  spirit  in  different  ways. 

Whenever  we  present  the  law  of  God  to  the  human  soul, 
and  bring  home  to  the  conscience  and  the  hcaj":,  the  sum- 
mons to  surrender  to  its  authority,  we  meet  from  all  the 
varieties  of  human  character,  with  substantially  the  same 
reception.  Take  it  to  savages  on  their  remote  island.  Ex- 
plain the  law  to  them,  show  its  moral  perfection  ;  offer  them 
forgiveness  for  the  past  if  they  will  now  subdue  their  pas- 
sions, and  cease  their  murderous  quarrels,  and  give  them- 
selves up  to  the  service  of  the  pure  and  holy  Spirit,  and  be- 
come like  him  pure,  and  holy,  and  merciful,  and  kind.  Will 
they  obey  ? 

Come  then  to  a  Christian  land,  and  collect  an  assem- 
bly of  children.  Describe  to  them  the  cold,  cheerless  misery 
of  sin  ;  call  their  attention  to  the  secret  corrodings  of  remorse, 
which  they  all  suffer  every  day.  Remind  them  of  their  in- 
gratitude and  disobedience  to  their  parents,  and  their  neglect 
of  God  ;  tell  them  how  rapidly  time  is  flying,  and  how  soon 
they  must  appear  before  their  Maker.  Describe  the  moral 
beauty  of  a  holy  character, — ^pure,  docile,  faithful,  grateful  to 
father  and  mother,  and  filled  with  affection  for  God, — the 
soul  resigned  and  submissive  to  his  will  and  happy  in  a  sense 
of  his  forgiveness  and  protection.  Then  ask  them  to  come 
and  give  themselves  to  their  Savior,  and  to  begin  lives  of 
purity  and  duty  and  holiness.  What  will  they  do  ?  They 
will  sit  still  while  you  speak,  if  they  have  been  trained  to  sit 
still  on  such  occasions,  and  perhaps  a  few  may  listen  with 
real  attention  ;  but  after  you  have  finished  all  that  you  have 
to  say,  they  will  go  away  with  hearts  as  cold  toward  God  as 
if  they  had  been  indurating  under  the  influence  of  sin  for  a 
hundred  years. 

Take  younger  children  then.  Here  is  a  little  one,  just  able 
to  run   about  the  floor  and  talk,  and  it  yet  knows  little  or 


116  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  wealthy  merchant.  The  message  to  him. 

nothing  about  God.  It  obeys  its  mother's  express  commands, 
because  it  finds  from  experience  that  some  unpleasant  conse- 
quences will  ensue  if  it  does  not  obey,  and  its  obedience  is  just 
in  proportion  to  the  certainty  of  these  consequences.  Call  this 
child  to  you  now,  and  explain  to  it  its  duties  and  obligations 
to  God.  Attempt  to  awaken  gratitude,  filial  love,  and 
willingness  to  obey  him.  Try,  in  a  word,  to  establish  an 
acquaintance  and  communion  of  feeling  between  its  heart, 
and  the  unseen,  eternal  spirit  around  it,  and  to  awaken 
gratitude  for  his  favors,  and  a  desire  to  please  him  and  to  do 
his  will.  And  what  will  be  your  success  ?  Why  you  may 
excite  surprise ;  you  may  arrest  a  momentary  attention,  you 
may  awaken  awe  and  even  terror,  by  bringing  death  and  a 
coming  judgment  to  view.  But  to  link  that  heart  by  any 
substantial  tie  to  its  maker  and  benefactor,  and  kindest  and 
dearest  friend,  will  baffle  all  your  powers. 

Make  the  experiment  then  upon  a  maturer  mind.  Here 
is  a  wealthy  merchant,  engaged  in  business,  which  abundant 
prosperity  from  God  has  brought  before  him.  In  order  that 
there  may  be  nothing  exceptionable  in  the  form  and  manner 
in  which  his  duty  as  a  child  of  God  is  brought  before  him, 
we  will  suppose  that  he  is  sick,  and  has  sent  for  his  pastor 
to  come  and  visit  him.  Let  this  pastor  explain  what  is 
meant  by  the  requisition  of  the  Bible,  that  a  man  of  wealth 
should  feel  that  his  wealth  is  not  his  o-wn,  but  that  he  holds 
it  as  steward. — agent ; — and  that  he  is  bound  to  be  faith- 
ful to  the  trust  committed  to  him.  He  knows  very  well 
what  are  the  duties  of  trustee.  He  understands  the  distinc- 
tion between  agent  and  principal ;  so  that  no  long  explana- 
tion is  necessary.  Let  the  pastor  simply  call  his  attention 
to  the  point,  and  bring  home  to  his  mind  the  nearness  of 
eternity,  the  inconceivable  importance  of  the  salvation  of  his 
soul,  and  of  the  souls  of  his  workmen,  his  clerks,  his  sales- 
men, his   navigators;    and   plead  with    him  to   come   out 


HUMAN    NATURE.  117 


Enmity  against  God.  The  amiable  girl. 

honestly  and  openly  and  with  all  his  heart,  on  the  side  of 
God  and  holiness  ; — to  let  his  light  shine ; — and  to  devote 
every  thing  that  he  has  to  the  work  of  helping  forward 
God's  cause  in  the  world.  Suppose  this  experiment  were  to 
be  tried,  who  that  knows  mankind  would  doubt  about  the 
result.  One  half  the  Christian  pastors  in  the  world  would  be 
so  convinced  of  its  hopelessness,  that  they  would  not  make  the 
attempt.  They  would  not  ask,  plainly  and  directly,  a  worldly 
man,  under  such  circumstances,  to  give  himself  up  to  God. 
And  if  they  should  bring  the  question  forward,  plainly  and 
faithfully,  and  in  all  its  honest  truth,  instead  of  winning  new 
converts  to  God,  they  would,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  in  any 
commercial  city  in  Christendom,  excite  high  displeasure,  and 
very  likely  never  be  able  to  gain  admission  to  that  bedside 
again.  Worldly  men  are  very  willing  to  sustain  the  exter- 
nal institutions  of  religion,  and  to  assemble  on  the  Sabbath^ 
from  time  to  time  to  hear  praises  of  the  moral  virtues,  or 
discussions  of  the  abstract  excellences  of  religion.  But  you 
can  not  take  such  a  text  as  this,  "Ye  are  not  your  own, 

YE  ARE  BOUGHT  WITH  THE  PRICE,  THEREFORE  GLORIFY  GoD 
IN  YOUR  BODIES  AND  IN  YOUR  SPIRITS  WHICH  ARE  God's  :"  and 

fairly  bring  it  before  men's  consciences  and  hearts,  so  that 
they  may  really  understand  its  meaning,  without  awakening 
strong  opposition  or  dislike.  It  is  opposition  and  dislike  to 
something.  They  say  it  is  not  enmity  against  God.  But 
that  certainly  looks  very  much  like  enmity  against  God  and 
his  government,  which  is  excited  by  the  presentation  af  the 
very  fundamental  principle  of  all  his  laws. 

But  do  not  let  us  despair.  There  may  be  some  one  yet, 
who  will  admit  God,  though  all  these  have  rejected  him. 
Here  is  an  amiable  and  gentle  girl ;  obedient  to  her  parents, 
faithful  in  many  of  her  duties,  affectionate,  kind.  Let  us 
bring  to  her  the  invitation  to  come  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.      Exemplary  as   she   is   in   external   conduct,  she 


118  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Apparent  attention.  Real  indifference.  Almost  a  Christian. 


knows  very  well  that  her  heart  would  not  bear  exposure. 
Envy,  self-will,  jealousy,  pride,  often  reign  there.  She  knows 
it ;  she  feels  it ;  and  her  conscience  being  still  tender,  these 
sins  often  destroy  her  peace.  Tell  her  that  divine  grace  will 
help  her  to  subdue  these,  her  enemies.  She  sometimes  looks 
forward  to  future  life,  and  sighs  to  think  how  soon  it  will 
pass  away.  Tell  her  that  piety  will  dispel  the  darkness  that 
hangs  over  the  grave,  and  open  immortality  to  her  view. 
She  thinks  of  future  trials  and  difficulties  and  dangers  with 
dread.  Tell  her  that  the  Savior  is  ready  to  guide  her  and 
be  her  friend ;  to  protect  and  bless  her  at  all  times,  to  give 
her  employment,  and  to  be  her  reward.  Spread  the  whole 
subject  out  before  her,  and  urge  her  to  come  and  give  her- 
self up  to  God  and  save  her  soul.  She  listens  to  you  with 
respectful,  and  perhaps  even  with  pleased  attention.  Do  not  be 
deceived  by  it.  She  is,  at  heart,  utterly  weary  of  the  gloomy 
subject.  She  might  like  perhaps  protection  and  happiness, 
but  her  heart  revolts  against  God  and  holiness,  and  you  might 
as  well  talk  to  the  deaf  adder  as  talk  to  her. 

Or  if  her  heart  is  not  entirely  braced  up  and  hardened  in 
its  determination  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  God  and  religion, 
— if  she  is  really  willing  to  listen  and  to  read, — she  is  still 
just  as  obstinately  determined  not  to  obey.  She  is  called 
perhaps  a  religious  inquirer.  She  reads  the  Bible,  and  offers 
a  daily  prayer,  and  takes  an  interest  in  religious  instruction ; 
but  her  secret  motive  is  to  keep  religion  tvithin  her  reach, 
because  she  dares  not  let  it  go  altogether.  She  is  still  deter- 
mined not  to  give  herself  up  to  her  duty.  She  can  love  her 
parents,  her  brothers  and  sisters,  but  her  heart  is  cold  and 
hard  against  God  ;  and  do  all  you  can  to  persuade  her  to 
come  out  openly  and  honestly  and  cordially  on  his  side,  she 
is  fixed,  immovably  fixed,  in  refusing  to  do  it.  Her  religious 
friends  think  that  she  is  very  near  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
And  in  one  sense,  she  is  near.     She  stands  at  the  very  gate 


HUMAN  NATURE.  119 


Universal  alienation  from  God.  Dead  in  trespasses  and  sins. 

of  the  celestial  city.  All  obstacles  are  removed  ;  she  can 
look  in  and  see  the  happy  mansions  and  the  golden  streets. 
The  simple  difficulty  is,  that  she  will  not  enter.  If  you  urge 
her,  she  attempts  to  perplex  you  with  metaphysical  specula- 
tions, or  listens  in  respectful  silence,  and  goes  away  and  con- 
tinues in  sin  exactly  as  before. 

And  thus  it  is  all  over  the  world.  There  are  many  beau- 
tiful moral  exhibitions  to  be  seen  here  ;  many  admirable 
results  ;  many  alluring  aspects  of  human  nature.  But  after 
all,  any  honest  observer  must  see,  that  between  mankind  and 
God  their  Maker,  there  is  a  deep  and  settled  and  universal 
disagreement.  They  would  be  willing  that  Grod  should  rule 
over  them,  if  he  would  leave  them  pretty  much  to  them- 
selves. But  this  he  will  not  do.  His  very  first  and  most 
emphatic  command  is,  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy 
God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thyself;" 
and  this  they  will  not  do.  It  is  their  fixed,  their  settled, 
their  unchanging  determination  that  they  will  not  do  it. 

Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  call  it  a  determination ;  for  it  is 
rather  a  feeling  than  a  determination, — a  disrelish  for  holi- 
ness and  the  spiritual  enjoyment  of  loving  and  serving  God. 
The  heart,  sensitive  as  it  is  in  regard  to  its  own  rights  and 
interests,  is  cold  and  torpid  in  regard  to  its  Maker's  claims. 
Motive  will  not  act  upon  it.  Persuasion  has  no  effect,  for 
there  is  no  feeling  for  persuasion  to  take  hold  of.  Argument 
does  no  good,  for  though  you  may  convince  the  understand- 
ing without  much  difficulty,  the  heart  remains  insensible  and 
cold  ; — dead,  as  the  Bible  terribly  expresses  it, — dead  in 
trespasses  and  sins.  This  coldness  and  insensibility  of  the 
heart  toward  God  leads  to  all  sorts  of  sinfulness  in  conduct. 
It  takes  off"  restraint,  gives  up  the  soul  to  unholy  feelings, 
increases  the  power  of  temptation,  and  thus  leaves  the  soul 
the  habitual  slave  of  sin.  These  overt  acts  are  the  effects, 
not  the  cause,  and  he  who  hopes  to  be  morally  renewed 


120  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  real  diflaculty.  Spiritual  blindness.  The  ungrateful  child. 

must  not  look  directly  and  mainly  to  his  moral  conduct,  and 
endeavor  to  rectify  that ;  but  he  must  look  deeper  ;  he  must 
examine  his  heart,  and  expect  no  real  success  which  does 
not  proceed  from  the  warmth  of  spiritual  life  springing  up  there. 

1  presume  that  a  large  portion  of  the  readers  of  this  chap- 
ter, will  be  persons  who  feel,  in  some  degree,  the  value  and 
the  necessity  of  piety,  and  they  are,  perhaps,  actually  reading 
this  book  with  a  vague  sort  of  wish  to  meet  with  something 
in  it  which  can  help  them  to  find  salvation.  The  book  can 
do  this  only  by  showing  you  the  real  difficulty  ; — which  is, 
that  you  do  not  sincerely  wish  for  salvation.  "  Cease  to  do 
evil,  ask  forgiveness  in  the  name  of  Christ  for  the  evil  that 
you  have  done,  and  henceforth  openly  serve  God."  These 
are  certainly  directions  which  it  is  easy  for  you  to  under- 
stand, and  easy  to  practice.  The  difficulty  is,  a  heart  which 
will  not  comply.  There  is  a  moral  obligation  to  comply,  which 
the  understanding  admits,  but  which  the  heart  does  not  feel ; 
and  a  moral  beauty  in  complying  which  it  does  not  perceive. 

This  is  spiritual  blindness.  And  yet,  simple  as  it  seems, 
a  large  portion,  even  of  those  who  call  themselves  religious 
inquirers,  have  very  little  conception  of  what  spiritual  blind- 
ness is.  It  is  insensibility  to  spiritual  things,  a  dullness  of 
moral  perception,  such  that  sin,  though  it  is  intellectually 
perceived,  makes  no  impression,  and  holiness,  though  the 
word  is  understood,  awakens  no  feeling  of  its  excellence  and 
beauty  in  the  heart.  I  can  best  illustrate  it  by  a  simple 
case,  such  as  parents  often  have  occasion  to  observe, 

A  noisy  boy,  three  or  four  years  old,  was  once  running 
about  the  house,  disturbing  very  much,  by  his  rattling  play- 
things and  his  loud  outcries,  a  sick  mother,  in  a  chamber 
above  stairs.  I  called  him  to  me,  and  something  like  the 
following  dialogue  ensued.* 

*  As  the  reader  proceeds  through  the  dialogue,  we  wish  he  would 
recollect  that  the  case  is  not  brought  forward  to  illustrate  the  general 


HUMAN    NATUHE.  121 


The  dialogue.  Ingratitude. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  She  is  sick  up  stairs." 

*'  Is  she  ?     I  am  sorry  that  she  is  sick." 

A  pause. 

*'  Were  you  ever  sick  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  sick  once,"  said  he,  and  he  began  to  rattle 
his  little  feet  upon  the  chair,  and  to  move  about  in  a  restless 
manner,  as  if  he  wished  to  get  down. 

"  Oh,  you  must  sit  still  a  moment,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  talk 
with  you  a  little  more.     When  were  you  sick  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  What  did  your  mother  do  for  you,  when  you  were  sick  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  rocked  me  in  the  cradle." 

"  Did  she  ? — did  she  rock  you  ?  I  am  glad  she  was  so 
kind.  I  suppose  you  liked  to  be  rocked.  Did  she  give  you 
any  thing  to  drink  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Did  she  make  any  noise  to  trouble  you  ?" 

"  ]^o,  sir,  she  did  not  make  any  noise." 

*'  Well,  she  was  very  kind  to  you.  I  think  you  ought  to 
be  kind  to  her,  now  that  she  is  sick.  You  can  not  rock  her 
in  the  cradle,  because  she  is  too  old  to  be  rocked,  but  you  can 
be  gentle  and  still,  and  that  she  will  like  very  much." 

"  Oh  but,"  said  the  boy  in  a  tone  of  confidence,  as  if  what 
he  was  saying  was  perfectly  conclusive  and  satisfactory,  "  I 
want  to  ride  my  horse  a  little  more." 

So  saying,  he  struggled  to  get  free,  that  he  might  resume 
his  noisy  sport.  Probably  nearly  all  the  parents  who  read 
this  dialogue,  will  remember,  as  they  read  it,  many  similar 

character  of  children.  That  is  not  our  present  subject.  The  story  is 
told  merely  to  illustrate  the  nature  of  blindness  to  spiritual  things ;  and 
though  true,  it  would  have  answered  our  purpose  just  as  well,  if  it  had 
been  entu-ely  imaginary.  Children  generally,  or  at  least  often,  have  a 
very  keen  sensibility  to  the  guilt  of  ingratitude. 

F 


122  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Moral  insensibility.  Spiritual  blindness.  The  horse  and  his  rider. 

attempts  which  they  have  made,  to  lead  a  little  child  to 
perceive  the  inoral  beauty  of  gratitude,  and  to  yield  their 
hearts  to  its  influence.  But  the  child  will  not  see  or  feel. 
It  understands  the  terms ; — it  remembers  its  own  sickness 
and  its  mother's  kindness  ; — it  knows  that  its  mother  is  now 
sick,  and  that  its  noisy  plays  produce  inconvenience  and 
suffering;  but  every  attempt  to  lead  it  to  look  at  all  these 
things  in  connection,  and  to  perceive  and  feel  its  own  in- 
gratitude, are  vain.  It  has  no  perception  of  it,  no  sensibility 
to  it.  "  I  want  to  ride  my  horse  a  little  more,"  is  the  idea 
that  fills  its  whole  soul ;  and  duty,  gratitude,  obligation,  are 
unfelt  and  unseen. 

It  is  thus  with  you,  my  irreligious  reader.  Your  heart  has 
no  spiritual  perception  of  the  guilt  of  ingratitude  toward  God, 
and  the  moral  beauty  and  excellence  of  obedience  to  his  law. 
You  can  look  at  the  law,  at  God's  character,  at  your  own 
sins,  at  all  the  declarations  of  the  Bible,  but  you  do  not  feel 
their  moral  weight.  The  carnal,  that  is,  the  worldly  mind, 
does  not  know  them,  because  they  are  spiritually  discerned. 

Objects  of  natural  beauty  may  be  seen  in  the  same  man- 
ner, and  yet  not  appreciated.  A  traveler  on  horseback 
emerges  from  the  wood,  on  the  declivity  of  a  mountain,  and 
there  suddenly  bursts  upon  his  view,  a  widely  extended 
prospect  of  fertile  valleys,  and  winding  streams,  and  fields 
waving  with  corn,  farmhouses  and  smiling  villages,  giving 
life  to  the  scene.  He  stops  to  gaze  at  it  with  delight.  His 
horse  looks  at  it  too,  and  sees  it  all  as  distinctly  as  his  rider 
does.  The  fields  look  as  green,  and  the  groves  as  shady, 
and  the  streams  glisten  with  as  bright  a  reflection  to  one 
as  to  the  other.  But  while  the  man  gazes  upon  it  with 
emotions  of  delight,  the  animal  looks  idly  on,  pleased  with 
nothing  but  his  moment's  rest.  All  that  is  visible  comes 
equally  to  both  ;  but  beauty  is  felt,  not  seen.  Though  the 
eye  may  bring  in  those  combinations  of  form  and  color,  which 


HUM/AN    NATURE. 


123 


Insensibility. 


Spiritual  perception. 


THE   PROSPECT. 


are  calculated  to  awaken  the  emotion,  there  must  be  a  heart 
to  feel,  within, — or  all  will  be  mere  vision ; — cold,  lifeless, 
stupid  vision. 

It  is  so  with  spiritual  perception.  You,  my  reader,  may 
understand  the  gospel  most  thoroughly, — you  may  have 
studied  the  Bible  with  diligence  and  care,  and  may  see 
clearly  and  distinctly  all  its  truths ;  but  there  is  a  moral 
and  spiritual  meaning  and  power  in  them,  to  which  the 
heart,  while  it  remains  worldly,  remains  utterly  insensible. 
It  does  not  see,  it  does  not  feel  them. 

I  know  of  nothing  which  more  forcibly  illustrates  the  cold 
insensibility  of  men  to  all  that  relates  to  God  and  holiness, 
and  the  salvation  of  the  soul,  than  the  trains  of  reflection 
which  the  unsanctified  heart  falls  into,  in  its  languid  eflbrts 
to  bring  itself  under  religious  influence.     Let  us  take  one 


124  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

The  common  case.  Scene  at  evening.  Feelings.  The  soliloquy. 

case  as  a  specimen  of  tens  of  thousands.  The  subject  is  a 
moral,  upright  young  man,  with  an  honest  respect  for  re- 
ligion, and  a  distinct  understanding  of  its  truths.  He  has 
been  taught  his  duty  from  early  infancy,  and  has  at  length 
left  his  father's  roof  to  come  out  into  the  world  ;  and  as  he 
has  not  espoused  his  Savior's  cause,  his  conscience  keeps  up 
a  perpetual  murmur,  which  makes  him  restless  and  dissatis- 
fied and  destroys  his  peace.  He  has  all  the  time  a  resolution 
carefully  laid  up  in  his  mind  that  he  will  become  a  Chris- 
tian before  long.  This  makes  him  feel  as  though  he  were 
keeping  salvation  within  his  reach,  and  helps  a  little  to  quiet 
conscience.  He  has  lately  resumed  the  habit  which  he  was 
early  taught  to  establish,  of  reading  a  portion  of  Scripture 
before  he  retires  to  rest.  This  duty  he  generally  performs, 
though  in  a  cold  and  heartless  manner,  so  that  it  does  not  in 
the  least  interfere  with  his  leading,  day  after  day,  a  life  of 
irreligion  and  sin.  In  fact  he  would  be  ashamed  to  have  it 
known  that  he  reads  the  Bible  every  day. 

He  has  just  finished  his  chapter,  and  is  sitting  in  his  armed 
chair  before  the  dying  embers  of  his  evening  fire.  He  is 
alone,  and  it  is  near  midnight.  He  walks  to  the  window 
and  looks  for  a  few  moments  into  the  clear,  cold  sky,  and  a 
slight  emotion  swells  in  his  heart  as  he  thinks  of  the  bound- 
less distance  and  inconceivable  magnitude  of  the  stars  that 
he  sees  there.  The  feeling  is  mingled  with  a  sort  of  poetic 
wish  that  he  had  a  friend  in  the  mighty  Maker  of  them.  He 
soon  gets  into  a  contemplative  mood,  and  sits  down  again 
in  his  armed  chair  before  the  fire,  where  a  train  of  thought 
something  like  the  following  passes  in  his  mind.  I  insert  it, 
not  for  its  dignity,  or  its  good  taste,  but  because  it  is  true  to 
human  nature. 

THE    THOUGHTFUL    SINNER's    SOLILOQUY. 

"  Oh,  I  do  wish  I  was  a  Christian.     I  must  attend  to  the 


HUMAN    NATURE.  125 


Wandering  thoughts.  Reveries.  The  confession. 

subject.  I  am  now  twenty-five,  and  half  mankind  do  not 
live  to  be  fifty,  so  that  probably  I  am  more  than  half  through 
life. — I  should  like  to  know  exactly  what  my  chance  of  life 
is.  They  say  insurance  companies  can  tell  exactly ; — won- 
der how  they  calculate. — 

"  But  I  wish  I  was  a  Christian.  I  do  not  know  how  to 
repent.  I  will  confess  all  my  sins  now,  and  try  to  feel  peni- 
tence for  them.  I  will  begin  back  in  infancy.  That  lie 
that  I  told  to  my  father  about  the  book.  Charles  Williams 
sat  on  the  same  seat  with  me  then. — Wonder  where  he  is 
now." 

Here  he  gets  into  a  reverie,  about  home  and  scenes  of 
childhood  ;  presently  he  rises  up  and  sighs,  and  begins  to 
walk  back  and  forth  across  the  floor. 

"  Oh  I  how  hard  it  is  to  confine  my  thoughts.  Strange  ; 
— going  to  judgment, — all  my  sins  recorded, — coming  up 
against  me,  and  I  have  no  heart  to  repent  of  them.  Can 
see  them,  but  can't  feel. — Mr.  W.'s  sermon  was  not  very 
clear.  I  do  not  understand  how  the  judgment  will  be  ar- 
ranged. Take  a  great  deal  of  time. — Bible  says  Christ  will 
judge  the  world. 

"  But  I  must  become  a  Christian. — And  yet  if  I  should,  I 
must  make  a  profession  of  religion. — ^Very  public. — What 
would  they  all  say  ? ." 

Here  he  stops  to  look  out  of  the  window,  and  seems  lost, 
for  a  few  moments,  in  vacancy. 

"  Wonder  who  is  sick  in  that  house  ; — ^bright  light.  How 
should  I  feel  if  I  were  taken  sick  to-night,  and  knew  I  was 
going  to  die  ? — The  time  will  come. 

"  But  my  sins. — Let  me  see  ; — I  disobeyed  my  father  and 
mother  a  great  many  times ;  I  used  to  take  their  things 
without  leave,  too. — Stealing,  that  ? — no, — not  stealing,  ex- 
actly.    Why  not  ?     Let  me  see. " 

He  specuUtes  a  few  minutes  on  this  question  of  casuistry, 


126  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  cold,  formal  prayer. 


and  then  sighs  deeply  as  he  finds  his  thoughts  wandering 
again,  and  makes  another  desperate  efibrt  to  bring  them 
back. 

"  Oh  I  how  I  wish  I  could  really  feel  my  sins.  I  will 
pray  to  God  to  forgive  them,  and  then  go  to  bed ;  I  will  sit 
down  in  my  armed  chair  and  pray. 

"  Oh  God,  look  down  in  mercy,  and  forgive  all  my  sins. 

I  confess  I  have  been  a  great  sinner 1  have, 1  am 

a  great  sinner, — I, (musing) — I that's  a  beautiful 

blue  flame  ; some  chemical  substance  in  the  coals, — azure 

(musing) O  my  God,  forgive  me,  and  enable  me  to 

repent  of  all  my  sins  ; — beautiful ; — what  a  singular  thing 
flame  is, — distinct  shape,  but  no  substance. 

'•  0  !  how  my  thoughts  will  wander.  I  wish  I  could  con- 
fine them.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  will  go  to  bed  ;  and  pray 
there  ;  posture  is  of  no  consequence." 

He  lies  down  and  begins  again  to  call  for  forgiveness,  but 
very  soon  loses  himself  in  a  dreamy  reverie,  which  terminates 
in  a  few  moments,  in  sleep. 

As  I  have  been  writing  the  above,  I  have  been  on  the 
point,  again  and  again,  of  drawing  my  pen  over  the  whole, 
as  a  wrong  species  of  composition  to  introduce  into  such  a 
work  as  this.  But  it  tells  the  truth.  Many  of  my  readers 
will  see  their  own  faces  reflected  in  it ;  for  as  in  water,  face 
answereth  to  face,  so  the  heart  of  man  to  man.  And  it 
shows  the  real  difliculty  in  the  way  of  salvation, — a  heart 
cold,  insensible,  and  callous  ;  unbelief  almost  entirely  darken- 
ing the  soul,  and  pride  destroying  the  efl^ect  of  the  little  light 
which  gains  admission. 

The  difliculty  seems  hopeless,  too  :  that  is,  so  far  as  human 
means  will  go  toward  removing  it.  Every  thing  fails.  In 
the  hands  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  as  we  shall  hereafter  show, 
every  thing  does  indeed,  at  times,  succeed ;  but  in  its  ordi- 


HUMAN    NATURE.  127 


EflFect  of  sickness  and  sufTering.  The  sick  man.  A  visit. 

nary  operation,  every  means  and  every  influence  which  can 
be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  human  heart,  fails  of  awaken- 
ing it.  You  can  not  possibly  have  a  stronger  case  to  present 
to  men,  than  the  claims  of  God's  law,  and  you  can  not  have 
a  case  in  which  argument,  and  eloquence,  and  instruction, 
and  persuasion,  if  left  to  themselves,  will  be  more  utterly 
useless  and  vain.  It  is  a  common  opinion  among  men,  who 
are  aware  that  all  this  is  true  in  regard  to  their  own  hearts, 
that  the  coldness  and  insensibility  which  they  feel  will  be 
dispelled  by  some  future  providence  of  God.  They  think  that 
affliction  will  soften  them,  or  sickness  break  the  ties  of  earth, 
or  approaching  death  arouse  them  to  vigorous  effort  to  flee 
from  the  wrath  to  come.  But  alas,  there  is  little  hope  here. 
Affliction  does  good  to  the  friends  of  God,  but  it  imbitters 
and  hardens  his  enemies.  Sickness  stupifies,  and:  pain  dis- 
tracts ;  and  approaching  death,  though  it  may  alarm  and 
terrify  the  soul  which  is  unprepared  for  it,  seldom  melts  the 
heart  to  penitence  and  love.  I  will  describe  a  case, — it  is  a 
specimen  of  examples  so  numerous,  that  every  village  and 
neighborhood  in  our  land  might  appropriate  it,  and  every 
clergyman  who  reads  it,  might  almost  suppose  that  I  took  it 
from  his  own  journal. 

A  few  years  since,  when  spending  a  Sabbath  in  a  beauti- 
ful country  town,  I  was  sent  for  to  visit  a  sick  man  who  was 
apparently  drawing  near  the  grave.  I  was  told,  as  I  walked 
with  the  neighbor  who  came  for  me,  toward  the  house  of 
the  patient,  that  he  was  in  a  melancholy  state  of  mind. 

"  He  has  been,"  said  he,  "  a  firm  believer  and  supporter 
of  the  truths  of  religion,  for  many  years.  He  has  been  very 
much  interested  in  maintaining  religious  worship,  and  all  be- 
nevolent institutions  ;  he  has  loved  the  Sabbath  School,  and 
given  his  family  every  religious  privilege.  But  he  says  that 
he  has  never  really  given  his  heart  to  God.     He  has  been 


128  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Conversation  by  the  way.  The  unfeeling  heart.  Consumption. 

devoted  to  the  world,  and  even  now,  he  says,  it  will  not  re- 
linquish its  hold." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  I,  "  that  he  must  die  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  he,  "  he  must  die,  and  he  is  fully  aware  of 
it.  He  says  that  he  can  see  his  guilt  and  danger,  hut  that 
his  hard  heart  will  not/eeZ." 

This  is  the  exact  remark  which  is  made  in  thousands  and 
thousands  of  similar  cases,  and  in  almost  precisely  the  same 
language.  The  eyes  are  opened,  but  the  heart  remains 
unchanged. 

We  at  length  approached  the  house.  It  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  delightful  village,  and  in  one  of  those  calm,  still,  sum- 
mer afternoons,  when  all  nature  seems  to  speak  from  every 
tree,  and  leaf,  and  flower,  of  the  goodness  of  God,  and  to 
breathe  the  spirit  of  repose  and  peace.  I  wondered  that  a  man 
could  lie  on  his  bed,  with  windows  all  around  him  opening 
upon  such  a  scene  as  this,  and  yet  not  feel. 

As  I  entered  the  sick-room,  the  pale  and  emaciated  patient 
turned  toward  me  an  anxious  and  agitated  look,  which 
showed  too  plainly  what  was  passing  within.  It  was  a  case 
of  consumption.  His  sickness  had  been  long  and  lingering, 
as  if  by  the  gradual  manner  in  which  he  had  been  drawn 
away  from  life,  God  had  been  endeavoring  to  test  by  experi- 
ment, the  power  of  approaching  death  to  draw  the  heart  to- 
ward him.  His  strength  was  now  almost  gone,  and  he  lay 
gasping  for  the  breath  which  his  wasted  lungs  could  not  re- 
ceive. His  eye  moved  with  a  quick  and  anxious  glance 
around  the  room,  saying,  by  its  expression  of  bright  intelli- 
gence, that  the  mind  retained  undiminished  power. 

I  endeavored  to  bring  to  his  case  those  truths  which  I 
thought  calculated  to  influence  him,  and  lead  him  to  the  Sa- 
vior ;  but  he  knew  before,  all  that  I  could  tell  him ;  and  I 
learned  from  his  replies,  given  in  panting  whispers,  that  re- 
ligious truth  had  been  trying  its  whole  strength  upon  him  all 


HUMAN   NATURE.  129 

Hopeless  condition. 


his  life,  and  that  in  presenting  it  to  him  again  now,  I  was 
only  attempting  once  more,  an  experiment,  which  had  been 
repeated  in  vain,  almost  every  day  for  forty  years.  I  saw  the 
utter  hopelessness  of  effort,  and  stood  by  his  bedside  in  silent 
despair.     He  died  that  night. 

My  reader,  if  your  heart  is  cold  and  hard  toward  God, 
abandon  all  hope  that  the  alarm  and  anxiety  of  a  death- 
bed will  change  it.  Seek  moral  renewal  and  forgiveness 
now. 


130  THE    CORNER-STONE.. 


Character  of  the  Deity.  Eflaciency  in  government. 


CHAPTER    y. 

PUNISHMENT,    OR    THE    CONSEQUENCES    OF    HUMAN    GUILT. 
"  He  will  miserably  destroy  those  wicked  men." 

There  are  perhaps  one  thousand  millions  of  men  upon  the 
earth  at  this  time,  of  which  probably  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  millions  entertain  the  feelings  toward  God  which 
are  described  in  the  last  chapter,  and  act  accordingly.  The 
question  at  once  arises,  what  will  Grod  do  with  them. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  recollect,  that  in  the  first  chapter 
of  this  work,  when  considering  the  character  of  the  Deity, 
we  found  that  one  of  its  most  prominent  traits,  is  deter- 
mined decision  in  the  execution  of  law.  This  is  a  trait 
which  shows  itself  as  conspicuously  in  all  nature  around  us, 
as  it  does  in  the  declarations  of  the  Bible ;  but  one  which 
unfortunately  is  not  very  favorably  regarded  in  this  world. 
Efficiency  in  government  is  approved  or  disapproved,  accord- 
ing to  the  character  of  the  individual  who  j  udges  it.  An  ef- 
ficient administration  secures  protection  and  happiness  to  the 
good,  but  to  the  bad  it  brings  suffering,  and  perhaps  destruc- 
tion. It  is  natural,  therefore,  that  the  latter  should  be  very 
slow  to  praise  the  justice  which  they  fear ;  and  in  this  world 
the 'proportion  is  so  large  of  those  that  God's  efficiency  as  a 
moral  Governor  will  bear  very  heavily  upon,  that  the  whole 
subject  is  exceedingly  unpopular  among  mankind. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  how  men's  estimates  of  the  same 
conduct  vary  according  to  the  way  in  which  they  are  them- 


PUNISHMENT.  131 


Different  estimates  of  it.  The  forgery.  Severe  punishment. 

selves  to  be  affected  by  it ;  for  nothing  is  more  admired  and 
applauded  among  men,  than  efficiency  in  the  execution  of 
law,  in  all  cases  where  they  are  themselves  safe  from  its 
penalties.  There  have  been,  it  is  true,  great  disputes  in  re- 
spect to  the  bounds  which  ought  to  be  assigned  to  political 
governments,  or,  in  other  words,  to  the  degree  of  power  which 
the  magistrate  ought  to  possess.  But  within  these  bounds, — in 
the  exercise  of  this  power, — every  body  admires  and  praises 
firmness,  energy,  and  inflexible  decision.  Nobody  objects  to 
these  qualities,  except  the  criminal  who  has  to  suffer  for  the 
safety  of  the  rest.     He  always  protests  against  them. 

About  fifty  years  ago  an  English  clergyman  of  elevated 
rank  and  connections,  and  of  high  literary  reputation,  com- 
mitted forgery.  The  law  of  England  declares  that  the 
forger  must  die.  Now  England  is  a  highly  commercial 
country,  and  all  the  transactions  of  business  there  connected 
with  the  employment,  and  the  sustenance,  and  the  property 
of  millions  and  millions,  entirely  depend  upon  confidence  in 
the  truth  of  a  written  signature.  Destroy  the  general  confi- 
dence in  the  identity  of  a  man's  handwriting  in  signing  his 
name,  and  all  the  business  of  the  island  would  be  embar- 
rassed or  stopped,  and  universal  confusion,  distress,  and  ruin 
would  follow  in  a  day.  The  man,  therefore,  who  counter- 
feits a  signature  in  such  a  country,  points  his  dagger  at  the 
very  vital  organs  of  society. 

The  law  of  England  does  right,  therefore,  in  affixing  a  very 
severe  penalty  to  the  crime  of  forgery,  not  for  the  purpose  of 
revenging  itself  on  the  hapless  criminal,  but  for  the  sake  of 
protecting  that  vast  amount  of  property,  and  those  millions 
of  lives,  which  are  dependent  upon  the  general  confidence  in 
the  writing  of  a  name.  It  is  a  sad  thing  for  a  clergyman  of 
refined  and  cultivated  mind,  to  pass  through  the  scenes  which 
such  a  law  prepared  for  him.  Consternation,  when  de- 
tected ;  long  hours  of  torturing  suspense,  before  his  trial  :  in- 


132 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Necessity  for  it. 


Alternative. 


describable  suffering  when,  on  being  brought  to  the  bar,  he 
sees  the  proof  brought  out,  step  by  step,  clearly  against  him, 
and  witnesses  the  unavailing  efforts  of  his  counsel  to  make 
good  his  defense  ;  and  the  sinking  of  spirit,  like  death  itself, 

while  the  judge  pro- 
nounces the  sentence 
which  seals  his  awful 
fate.  Then  he  is  re- 
manded to  prison,  to 
spend  some  days  or 
weeks  in  uninterrupt- 
ed and  indescribable 
agony,  until  his  facul- 
ties become  bewildered 
and  overpowered  by 
the  influence  of  hor- 
ror and  despair ;  and 
he  walks  out  at  last, 
pale,  trembling,  and 
haggard,  to  finish  his 
earthly  sufferings  by 
Sad  consequences  these. 


THE  FOKGEB. 


the  convulsive  struggles  of  death 
we  admit,  although  they  come  only  upon  one  ; — and  all  for 
just  afl[ixing  another  man's  name  to  a  piece  of  paper,  without 
any  intention  of  defrauding  any  body !  For  it  is  highly 
probable  that  in  this  case,  as  in  many  similar  ones,  the 
criminal  meant,  in  mercantile  language,  to  have  taken  up  the 
paper  before  it  fell  due.  In  fact,  he  must  have  designed  this, 
for  this  would  be  the  only  way  to  escape  certain  detection. 
Awful  results,  we  admit,  for  a  sin  so  quickly,  and  so  thought- 
lessly committed ;  but  not  so  sad  as  it  would  be  to  let  the 
example  go  on, — until  the  frequency  of  forgery  should  destroy 
all  mutual  confidence  between  man  and  man,  and  business 
be  stopped,  and  millions  of  families  be  reduced  to  beggary. 


PUNISHMENT.  133 


Consequences  of  yielding  to  crime.  Public  sentiment.  Petitions. 

Better  that  here  and  there  a  violator  of  the  law  should  suffer 
its  penalties,  than  that  the  foundations  of  society  should  be 
sapped,  and  the  whole  structure  tumble  into '  ruin.  The 
question,  therefore,  for  the  government  of  that  island,  was 
simply  this :  will  you  be  firm,  notwithstanding  individual 
suffering,  in  executing  the  law,  or  will  you  yield,  and  take 
the  consequences  ?  If  you  yield,  you  open  the  flood-gates  of 
crime  and  suffering  upon  the  country  ;  and  there  will  be  no 
place  to  stop,  if  you  once  give  way  to  crime,  till  the  land  be- 
comes one  wide-spread  scene  of  desolation, — famine  raging 
in  every  hamlet, — banditti  lurking  in  the  valleys  or  riding  in 
troops  upon  the  highways, — and  wretched  mothers  with  their 
starving  babes,  roaming  through  the  streets  of  desolsrted  Lon- 
don, in  a  fruitless  search  for  food.  That  was  the  question ; 
and  the  energetic  government  of  the  country  understood  it  so. 
The  unhappy  criminal  gave  every  indication  of  penitence. 
He  was  universally  believed  to  be  truly  penitent  then,  and  is 
universally  believed  to  have  been  so  now.  All  England, 
too,  with  one  voice,  sent  in  earnest  petitions  for  his  pardon. 
But  it  was  in  vain.  The  British  ministry  understood  their 
duty  better,  and  though  it  was  perhaps  as  painful  a  duty  as 
a  government  ever  had  to  discharge,  they  were  firm  and  un- 
yielding to  the  last.  They  gave  the  wretched  criminal  nei- 
ther pardon  nor  reprieve  ;  and  though  they  would  probably 
have  submitted  to  almost  any  personal  suffering,  to  save  him, 
they  were  compelled  to  leave  him  to  drink  to  the  full,  the 
bitter  consequences  of  his  sin. 

There  were  thousands  and  thousands  of  petitioners  in  his 
favor  who  were  led  to  ask  for  a  pardon,  overcome  by  com- 
passion for  the  man.  The  tide  of  popular  feeling  was  alto- 
gether against  the  government  then,  for  men  generally  are 
weak-minded,  inefficient,  yielding,  when  the  performance  of 
duty  is  painful.  But  since  the  time  has  gone  by,  and  the 
momentary  weakness  of  the  occasion  has  passed  away,  there 


134  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Public  sentiment  now.  Impartiality.  Opinions  influenced  by  character. 


has  been  as  strong  a  tide  of  public  approbation  in  their  favor. 
In  fact  this  so  conspicuous  and  so  terrible  a  case  of  sin  and 
suffering,  has  made  a  permanent  impression,  not  only  upon 
England,  but  upon  the  whole  civilized  world.  Every  man 
feels  it.  He  may  not  trace  back  the  feeling  to  its  origin,  but 
it  is  undoubtedly,  in  a  very  great  degree  owing  to  this  and 
precisely  similar  transactions,  that  that  distinct  and  almost 
indelible  impression  has  been  made  upon  the  community, 
and  is  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  which 
connects  in  every  mind,  such  strong  and  mysterious  associa- 
tions of  sacredness  with  the  signature  of  the  written  name. 
From  that  day  to  this  every  writer  who  has  commented  upon 
the  transaction,  while  he  has  many  expressions  of  sympathy 
for  the  suffering  of  the  criminal,  has  a  far  more  emphatic 
tribute  of  praise  for  the  inflexible  firmness  and  decision  which 
refused  to  relieve  it. 

We  are,  in  a  great  measure,  incapacitated  from  regarding 
some  transactions,  analogous  to  this,  in  a  correct  manner,  on 
account  of  their  coming  too  near  to  ourselves  ;  but  this  one 
can  be  understood ;  its  moral  bearings  and  relations  are  seen 
as  they  are,  without  distortion ;  and  the  simple  fact  which 
enables  us  to  take  the  view  of  this  subject  which  truth  and 
justice  present,  is  this, — we  have  not  committed  forger}'^  our- 
selves. Suppose  there  had  been  in  the  prison  where  this 
unhappy  criminal  was  confined,  a  room  full  of  other  forgers, 
and  their  opinion  had  been  asked  about  the  justice  or  the 
necessity  of  condemning  him.  Could  they  be  made  to  under- 
stand it  ?  No  ;  they  would  be  vociferous  in  their  outcries 
at  the  unjust  severity  of  inflicting  such  protracted  and  terri- 
ble suffering  for  so  little  a  sin.  We  however  can  understand 
it,  for  we  are  impartial  observers.  We  have  not  committed 
the  crime,  and  we  consequently  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
sustaining  the  law.  We  rather  see  the  value  of  an  efficient 
administration  of  justice,  in  the  protection  which  it  affords 


PUNISHMENT.  135 


Points  illustrated.  Time  spent  in  sin.  Fifteen  seconds. 

to  our  rights,  and  in  the  addition  it  makes  to  our  happiness. 
I  have  accordingly  taken  this  case  to  present  to  my  readers, 
to  illustrate  four  or  five  points,  which  we  can  see  more  plain- 
ly than  when  we  look  at  them  directly  in  the  government  of 
God.  As  I  enumerate  the  points  which  such  a  case  illus- 
trates, let  the  reader  listen  to  the  voice  of  reason  and  con- 
science within,  and  he  will  find  that  it  testifies  in  their 
favor. 

1.  The  time  spent  in  committing  the  sin,  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  just  duration  of  the  punishment  of  it.  It  took 
Dr.  Dodd  fifteen  seconds,  to  write  Lord  Chesterfield's  name. 
He  suffered  indescribahle  agony  for  many  mionths,  and  was 
then  blotted  from  existence  for  it.  He  would  have  lived 
perhaps  forty  years.  So  that  here,  for  a  sin  of  fifteen  sec- 
onds, justice  took  forty  years  in  penalty.  She  took  more  ;  for 
he  would  have  been  glad  to  have  exchanged  death  for  forty 
years  of  exile  and  suffering.  In  fact  he  petitioned  for  such 
a  commutation. 

Some  one  may  say  that  I  fix  too  small  a  time  for  the  com- 
mission of  the  sin  ; — ^that  he  spent  many  hours  and  perhaps 
days  in  devising  his  plans,  and  practicing  his  counterfeit 
signature,  and  getting  his  bond  drawn ;  and  that  his  guilt 
was  extended  over  all  this  period.  His  guilt  might  have 
been  indeed  thus  extended,  but  it  must  be  remembered  that 
he  was  not  punished  for  guilt.  He  was  punished  for  crime. 
If  the  last  fatal  act  had  not  been  performed,  he  would  not 
have  committed  any  offense  against  human  law.  God  might 
have  punished  him,  but  man  would  not ; — so  that,  strictly 
and  fairly,  the  fifteen  seconds  spent  in  delineating  the  letters 
of  his  pupil's  name,  was  the  whole.  For  a  sin  of  fifteen 
seconds,  then,  there  followed  a  penalty  worse  than  a  suffer- 
ing for  forty  years  ;  and  mankind  have,  by  common  consent, 
from  that  day  to  this,  pronounced  the  punishment  just. 

2.  Desert  of  punishment  does  not  depend  upon  intention 


136  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Bad  intentions.  Immediate  consequences.  Inconsiderateness. 

to  do  injury.  The  forger,  in  this  case,  had  not  the  least 
intention  of  doing  injury.  He  could  not  have  had  such  an 
intention,  for  Lord  Chesterfield  could  not  have  been  called 
upon  to  pay  the  bond  without  causing  instant  detection. 
This  fact  however  was  no  reason  why  he  should  go  free.  The 
question  was  not  what  injury  he  intended  to  commit,  but  what 
injury  really  would  follow,  if  his  crime  should  go  unpunished. 

3.  Desert  of  punishment  does  not  depend  upon  the  imme- 
diate consequences  of  the  sin.  The  evil  of  sin  consists  not 
in  the  direct  injury  of  the  single  transgression,, but  in  the 
ruinous  effects  resulting  to  the  community,  when  it  is  allow- 
ed to  go  unpunished.  The  only  direct  injury  which  could 
have  resulted  from  the  crime  in  question,  was  the  loss  of  four 
thousand  pounds  by  one  individual.  Fifty  times  that  sum 
might  probably  have  been  raised  to  save  the  unhappy  crimi- 
nal's life,  but  it  would  have  been  unavailing.  He  was 
executed,  not  for  putting  to  hazard  the  four  thousand  pounds, 
but  for  endangering  the  vital  interests  of  an  immense  com- 
munity. The  four  thousand  pounds  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  case.  It  would  have  been  the  same  if  it  had  been  forty 
pounds.  The  sin  was  the  forgery,  not  the  endangering  of 
four  thousand  pounds. 

Men  are  always  disposed  to  estimate  their  guilt  by  the 
time  employed  in  committing  the  sin,  or  by  the  direct  conse- 
quences resulting  from  it ;  and  fancy  that  they  deserve  but 
little  punishment,  because  they  think  that  their  transgres- 
sions have  occupied  but  little  time,  and  can  of  themselves  do 
no  great,  immediate  injury. 

4.  Desert  of  punishment  does  not  depend  upon  the  degree 
of  distinctness  with  which  the  consequences  are  foreseen. 
The  criminal  here  had  no  idea  that  he  was  involving  himself 
in  such  dreadful  difficulty ;  but  this  inconsideration  was  no 
admissible  plea. 

Hearts  in  this  world  which  give  themselves  up  to  sin,  are 


PUNISHMENT.  137 


Object  of  punishment.  Not  revenge. 

unconcerned  about  its  guilt,  and  have  no  idea  of  the  awful 
consequences  which  are  to  ensue  ;  but  this  will  not,  can  not, 
alter  those  consequences. 

5.  The  object  of  punishment  is  not  revenge  against  the 
individual.  No  one  felt  any  sentiment  of  revenge  against 
the  forger  in  the  case  of  which  we  are  speaking.  There 
was  one  common  and  universal  desire  to  save  him, — 
and  that  in  the  very  community  which  alone  could  suffer 
injury  from  his  crime.  The  government  would  most  gladly 
have  pardoned  him,  if  they  could  have  done  it  safely.  No  one 
wished  that  he  should  suffer.  The  only  reason  for  insisting 
upon  it  was,  that  the  suffering  of  the  criminal  in  such  a  case 
can  alone  arrest  the  consequences  of  the  sin.  In  many  and 
many  an  instance  has  the  chief  magistrate  of  a  state  had  the 
strength  of  his  moral  principle  tried  to  the  utmost  by  the 
importunities  of  a  whole  community,  and  more  than  all  the 
rest,  of  ,the  wretched  wife  and  children  of  the  criminal.  A 
weak  man,  in  such  a  case,  will  yield.  His  desire  to  save 
individual  suffering,  will  induce  him  to  take  a  step  which 
will  hazard  all  that  society  holds  most  dear.  Instead  of  any 
feelings  of  resentment  against  the  individual  to  urge  him  on, 
there  is  a  deep  emotion  of  compassion  for  him,  to  keep  him 
back;  so  that  if  he  is  firm  and  does  his  duty,  it  must  be 
because  moral  principle  carries  him  forward,  against  the 
strong  tide  of  feeling  with  which  his  heart  pleads  for  the 
life  of  a  fellow-creature. 

It  is  so  in  the  government  of  Jehovah.  If  any  of  us 
should  be  so  happy,  as,  after  finishing  our  pilgrimage  in  this 
vale  of  tears,  to  be  admitted  to  our  happy  home  in  the  skies, 
God  will  assuredly  protect  us  forever  from  the  sins  and  the 
sinners  which  have  brought  so  much  misery  here.  He  will 
be  firm  and  unyielding,  in  the  execution  of  his  law ;  but  he 
will  pity  the  sufferings  which  he  must  not  relieve.  He  takes 
no  pleasure  in  the  death  of  the  wicked. 


138  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Moral  impression.  The  petition.  Satisfying  justice. 

6.  The  object  of  punishment  on  the  other  hand,  is,  a  moral 
impression  upon  the  community,  designed  to  arrest  the  ruinous 
consequences  of  sin.  We  have  seen  under  the  last  head, 
that  it  is  not  resentment  against  the  individual  which 
demands  the  punishment.  The  forger  knew  it  was  not,  in 
his  case,  resentment  that  stood  in  the  way  of  his  pardon  ;  and 
in  his  petition  for  pardon  he  said  nothing  with  the  view  of 
allaying  any  personal  hostility  felt  against  him,  but  only 
endeavored  to  show  how  the  necessary  moral  impression 
might  be  made  without  his  death.  The  following  paragraph 
from  a  petition  which  he  offered  to  the  king,  shows  this. 

"  I  confess  the  crime,  and  own  the  enormity  of  its  con- 
sequences, and  the  danger  of  its  example.  Nor  have  I  the 
confidence  to  petition  for  impunity  ;  but  humbly  hope,  that 
public  security  may  be  established,  without  the  spectacle  of 
a  clergyman  dragged  through  the  streets  to  a  death  of 
infamy,  amidst  the  derision  of  the  profligate  and  profane  ; 
and  that  justice  may  be  satisfied  with  irrevocable  exile,  per- 
petual disgrace,  and  hopeless  penury." 

It  is  evident  from  this,  what  object  the  petitioner  sup- 
posed it  to  be,  which  required  his  death.  And  in  all  his 
efforts  to  avoid  death,  his  plan  was  to  show  that  the  proper 
moral  impression  might  be  made  on  the  community  without 
it,  so  as,  in  his  own  words,  "  to  establish  the  public  security'' 
— "to  satisfy  justice ;''  expressions  which  are  almost  pre- 
cisely those  used  by  religious  writers  in  describing  God's 
design  in  punishing  sin,  and  which  are  spurned  by  the  dis- 
believers in  a  judgment  to  come,  as  expressions  having  no 
meaning,  or  else  signifying  something  unjust  or  absurd. 
"  To  satisfy  justice;'' — a  metaphorical  expression  certainly, 
but  one  which  any  man  can  understand  if  he  will.  The 
great  English  philologist,  for  it  was  Dr.  Johnson  who  penned 


PUNISHMENT.  139 


Salvation  by  Christ.  Penitence.  Its  power  in  averting  punishment. 

this  petition  for  the  unhappy  criminal,  will  hardly  be  charged 
with  using  under  such  circumstances,  unmeaning,  or  unintel- 
ligible language.  If  the  man  had  been  pardoned,  a  violence 
would  have  been  done  to  the  sense  of  justice  which  reigns  in 
every  man's  bosom,  that  would  have  worked  incalculable 
injury.  It  would  have  undermined  the  authority  of  law,  and 
brought  down  the  standard  of  moral  obligation ;  and  every 
man  would  have  felt,  as  soon  as  the  excitement  of  the  occa- 
sion was  past,  that  the  firm  foundations  of  commercial  con- 
fidence throughout  the  empire  had  been  rendered  insecure. 

The  object  then,  in  endeavoring  to  procure  the  pardon  of 
this  criminal,  was  to  devise  some  way  to  prevent  these  evils, 
without  his  death ; — some  way  to  satisfy  justice,  and  sus- 
tain law,  and  make  a  moral  impression  which  the  govern- 
ment well  knew  would  be  made  by  the  destruction  of  the 
man.  No  such  way  could  be  found,  and  the  poor  criminal 
was  compelled  to  submit  to  his  fate. 

What  this  poor  sufferer's  learned  and  eloquent  advocate 
failed  to  find,  for  him,  Jesus  Christ  our  Savior  succeeded  in 
finding  for  us  ; — a  way  by  which  to  satisfy  justice,  and  sus- 
tain law,  and  make  a  moral  impression  which  should  arrest 
the  sad  consequences  of  guilt,  and  render  it  safe  that  we 
should  be  forgiven.  We  shall  consider  this  however  more 
fully  in  the  sequel. 

7.  The  necessity  of  punishment  is  not  diminished  by  the 
penitence  of  the  sinner.  All  mankind  know  and  admit  this, 
excepting  in  their  own  case.  There,  they  always  have  an 
undefined  but  fixed  impression  that  penitence  settles  the 
whole  difficulty.  There  is  perhaps  as  good  evidence  that 
this  forger  was  penitent  as  there  can  be,  in  such  a  case  ;  but 
penitence,  however  deep  and  however  sincere,  could  have  no 
power  to  arrest  the  consequences  which  the  community  must 
suffer  from  unpunished  crime.  If  the  gratification  of  per- 
sonal resentment  against  the  criminal  had  been  the  reason 


140  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


It  makes  pardon  desirable.  Application  of  principles. 

for  insisting  on  the  penalty  of  violated  law,  then  repentance 
would  have  been  a  valid  plea,  as  it  would  have  removed  all 
personal  resentment,  and  turned  human  sympathy  in  his 
favor.  Repentance  always  increases  the  desire  to  forgive, 
but  it  never  of  itself  opens  the  way.  That  is  the  distinction. 
I  repeat  it ;  it  does  a  great  deal  toward  making  pardon 
desirable ;  but  alone,  it  does  nothing  toward  making  it  safe. 
That  is,  it  does  nothing  toward  making  that  impression  on 
the  community  which  the  connection  of  crime  with  suffering 
always  makes,  and  which  is  necessary  in  order  to  arrest  the 
ruinous  consequences  of  sin.  If,  then,  the  question  of  pardon 
came  up  at  all  in  the  British  cabinet,  the  stronger  the 
evidence  was  that  the  criminal  was  penitent  for  his  sin,  the 
more  painful  would  the  duty  of  insisting  on  justice  be ;  but 
the  necessity  of  performing  the  duty  would  remain  un- 
changed. 

We  have  taken  this  case  because  it  is  well  known,  and 
because  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  from  that  day  to 
this,  has  pronounced  but  one  decision  upon  it.  The  in- 
ferences which  we  have  drawn  out  from  it,  might  be 
almost  equally  well  illustrated  by  any  case  of  sin  and 
punishment  which  takes  place  in  any  government,  parental 
or  political.  These  truths  are  so  plain,  that  no  man  can 
or  will  deny  them,  excepting  in  his  own  case,  or  in  some 
case  which  comes  so  near  to  him  as  to  bias  his  feelings. 
They  are  the  principles  by  which  the  Bible  declares  that 
Jehovah  will  be  guided  in  the  administration  of  his  govern- 
ment. The  punishment  due  to  transgression  will  not  be 
regulated  by  the  briefness  of  the  time  spent  in  the  com- 
mission of  the  sin  ; — it  will  not  be  measured  by  the  small- 
ness  of  the  immediate  injury ; — ^the  sinner  may  have  had 
no  intention  to  invade  the  peace  and  happiness  of  God's 
great  family  ; — he  may  have  been  entirely  unaware  of  the 
consequences   which   were    to   follow ; — he   may  be   over- 


PUNISHMENT.  141 


Nature  and  effects  of  sin.  Cock-fighting. 

whelmed  with  consternation  and  sorrow  when  he  finds 
what  the  bitter  fruits  must  be ; — he  may  offer  reparation 
a  hundred-fold ; — but  all  in  vain.  Even  repentance,  sin- 
cere and  humble  repentance,  will  be  insufficient  to  save 
him.  For  it  is  not  personal  resentment  against  the  indi- 
dual,  nor  desire  to  repair  the  immediate  injury  effected 
by  the  specific  sin,  which  leads  to  the  infliction  of  the 
penalty.  If  it  were,  repentance  would  remove  the  one,  and 
a  comparatively  slight  effort,  effect  the  other.  But  it  is  not 
these.  It  is  that  sin,  that  evil  and  bitter  thing,  wherever  it 
comes,  blights  and  destroys.  Just  so  far  as  it  gains  admis- 
sion into  God's  dominions,  peace  and  happiness  fly, — harmony 
is  broken  up, — man  hates  and  oppresses  his  fellow-man,  and 
all  conspire  against  God.  "We  feel  not  its  miseries  and  its 
horrors  because  we  have  become  hardened  to  them,  and 
the  heart  is  stupid  and  insensible  to  guilt  in  which  it  is 
itself  involved. 

Men  see  and  understand  guilt  in  a  degree,  sometimes, 
when  it  starts  upon  them  in  some  new  and  unexpected  form, 
while  they  are  entirely  blind  to  far  greater  enormities  which 
they  have  themselves  assisted  to  make  common.  A  whole 
town  was  once  shocked  by  the  disclosure  of  a  scene  of  vice 
and  cruelty,  which  was  to  the  mass  of  the  inhabitants,  a  new 
and  unusual  form  of  sin.  It  was  cock-fighting.  Cruel,  un- 
relenting wretches  prepared  their  victims  for  the  C9ntest,  by 
sawing  off  their  natural  spurs,  and  fastening  deadlier  ones  of 
steel  upon  the  bleeding  trunks.  Then,  having  forced  the  in- 
nocent animals  to  a  quarrel,  by  thrusting  each  against  the 
other  till  they  provoked  them  to  anger,  they  sat  around  to 
enjoy  the  spectacle  of  their  combat.  The  whole  community 
was  shocked  by  it,  for  this  was  sin  in  a  new  and  unexpected 
form,  and  one  in  which  they  had  not  themselves  personally 
partaken.  But  when  the  same  experiment,  precisely,  is  tried 
with  men,  the  world  looks  on  calmly  and  unmoved.     Mili- 


142  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


War.  Human  insensibility  to  sin.  Threatened  destruction. 

tary  leaders  bring  human  beings  together  by  thousands,  men 
who  have  no  quarrel,  and  would  gladly  live  in  peace.  They 
drive  them  up  together  front  to  front,  and  having  armed  them 
with  weapons  of  torture  and  death,  which  nature  never  fur- 
nished, they  succeed,  half  by  compulsion,  and  half  by  mali- 
cious art,  in  getting  the  first  blows  struck,  and  the  first  blood 
flowing,  as  a  means  of  bringing  the  angry  passions  of  the 
combatants  into  play.  This  they  call  getting  the  men  en- 
gaged I  There  is  no  trouble  after  this.  The  work  goes  on  ; 
— a  work  of  unutterable  horror.  The  blood,  the  agony,  the 
thirst,  the  groans  which  follow,  are  nothing.  It  is  the  raging 
fires  of  hatred,  anger,  revenge,  and  furious  passion,  which 
nerve  every  arm,  and  boil  in  every  heart,  and  with  which 
thousands  upon  thousands  pour  in  crowds  into  the  presence 
of  their  Maker  ; — these  are  what  constitute  the  real  horrors 
of  a  battle-field.  And  what  do  mankind  say  to  this  ?  Why 
a  few  Christian  moralists  feebly  remonstrate,  but  the  great 
mass  of  men  gather  around  the  scene  as  near  as  they  can  get 
to  it,  by  history  and  description,  and  admire  the  systematic 
arrangements  of  the  battle,  and  watch  the  progress  and  the 
manoeuvers  of  the  hostile  armies,  as  they  would  the  changes 
in  a  game  of  chess  : — and  were  it  not  for  the  flying  bullet, 
they  would  throng  around  the  scene  in  person.  But  when 
it  comes  to  sawing  off*  the  spurs  of  a  game-cock,  and  exas- 
perating him  against  his  fellow, — oh !  that  is  shocking 
cruelty  : — ^that  they  can  not  bear  ! 

We  do  not  realize  the  nature,  and  the  effects  of  any  sin, 
when  we  have  been  long  habituated  to  it,  nor  perceive  that 
guilt  in  which  we  are  personally  involved.  But  this  will 
not  alter  the  case.  God  will  cherish  no  personal  resentment 
against  sinners,  and  no  wish  to  put  them  to  suffering.  But 
the  aAvful  consequences  of  sin  among  his  creatures  must  be 
stopped : — and  in  order  to  stop  it,  the  wretched  souls  who 
choose  it  for  their  portion  must  be  destroyed. 


PUNISHMENT.  143 


The  alternative.  Open  unbelief.  Indifference. 

Destroyed  ?  It  is  a  strong  expression,  but  Grod  has  chosen 
it.  We  take  it  from  his  word,  and  we  may  not  use  a 
gentler  one.     "  All  the  wicked  will  he  destroy." 

"  The  Lord  Jesus  shall  he  revealed  from  heaven  with  his 
mighty  angels, — in  flaming  fire,  taking  vengeance  on  their 
that  know  not  God,  and  that  obey  not  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ ; — who  shall  be  punished  with  everlasting  de- 
struction from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  and  from  the  glory 
of  his  power." 

Destruction  I  It  is  a  word  in  regard  to  which  all  com- 
ment is  useless,  and  all  argument  vain.  Perverted  ingenuity 
might  modify,  and  restrain  even  such  expressions  as  eternal^ 
and  everlasti7ig,  but  destruction, — it  bids  defiance  to  cavil- 
ing :  it  extinguishes  hope.  Everlasting  destruction  ! 
We  are  left  to  the  single  alternative  of  admitting  the  terrible 
truth,  or  positively  Refusing  to  take  God's  word. 

Of  this  alternative,  men  choose  difierent  sides.  They  who 
are  determined  to  live  in  vice  and  sin,  openly  deny  God's  dec- 
laration. Reasoning  with  them  is  useless.  Can  you  expect 
to  find  any  words  plainer  than  "  everlasting  destruction  ?'' 
No  :  the  difficulty  is  with  the  heart.  Till  this  is  touched, 
demonstration  is  useless : — but  then,  when  the  conscience  is 
awakened,  and  the  heart  feels,  the  difficulty  is  over  : — doubts 
about  the  Judgment  to  come,  vanish  like  the  dew. 

This  open  contradiction  of  the  word  of  God  is,  however, 
perhaps  a  smaller  evil  than  the  lurking,  secret  unbelief  which 
reigns  in  almost  every  heart.  The  number  who  openly  deny 
what  God  declares,  in  regard  to  the  desert  and  the  punish- 
ment of  sin,  is  very  small ;  but  the  number  of  those  who 
really,  and  from  their  hearts,  believe  it,  is,  very  probably, 
smaller  still.  Between  these  two  extremes  lie  the  vast  ma- 
jority of  the  human  race, — asleep ;  too  faithless  to  believe, 
and  too  stupid  and  indifferent  to  take  the  trouble  to  deny. 
They  do  not  reason  aloud  upon  the  subject,  but  there  is  a 


144  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Mistaken  views.  The  guilt  of  sinning  t^ainst  God.  Case  of  the  child. 

lurking  feeling  in  their  hearts  that  they  have  been  sinners 
only  for  a  little  time ;  they  have,  they  think,  no  malicious 
intentions,  no  direct  hatred  of  God  ;  their  guilt  is  that  of 
thoughtlessness  and  inadvertence,  and  the  mischief  is  slight 
which  immediately  follows.  Many  a  young  person  secretly 
reasons  thus  after  spending  years  in  decided  and  determined 
neglect  of  God.  The  plea  which  he  puts  in  is  just  the  same 
as  if  the  forger  had  urged  in  his  petition  for  pardon,  that  it 
took  him  only  fifteen  seconds  to  commit  the  crime,  that  he 
had  no  malicious  intentions  toward  the  community  in  com- 
mitting it,  and  that  the  sum  which  was  hazarded,  was  only 
four  thousand  pounds.  He  can  not,  he  infers,  deserve  death 
for  this.  He  overlooks  altogether  the  wide-spread  evils  that 
would  desolate  the  whole  community,  should  the  work  which 
he  thus  begins  be  allowed  to  go  on. 

So  the  sinner,  a  child  of  ten  years  old,  who  has  lived  a 
comparatively  amiable  and  harmless  life,  wonders  what  there 
can  be  in  his  life  and  character  deserving  of  the  terrific  retri- 
bution which  God  has  denounced  upon  him.  I  will  tell  you 
what  it  is,  my  child.  It  is  not  the  length  of  the  ten  years, 
during  which  you  have  been  living  in  sin.  That  is  nothing. 
It  is  not  the  inconvenience  and  suffering  that  you  have  occa- 
sioned your  parents.  If  you  had  been  to  them,  during  all 
this  time,  an  unceasing  source  of  pain  and  anxiety,  it  would  be 
comparatively  nothing.  It  is  not  the  injury  which  you  have 
often  done  to  your  playmates  by  your  guilty  passions  ;  if  that 
injury  had  been  ten  times  as  frequent,  and  ten  times  as  great 
as  it  has  been,  it  would  be  comparatively  nothing.  It  is  not 
that  you  have  directly  opposed  and  hated  God  ;  I  admit  that 
you  have  had  no  distinctly  malicious  intention  toward  him. 
It  is  not  those  things,  therefore.  What  it  is,  however,  is 
this,  namely,  that  there  is  a  great  controversy  going  on, 
whether  God  shall  reign  or  not  among  the  beings  he  has 
made,  when  nothing  but  his  reign  can  save  them  from  uni- 


PUNISHMENT.  145 


The  spread  of  sin  must  be  stopped.         Sin  overruled  for  good.  The  forgery. 

versal  disorder  and  misery,  and  from  becoming  the  victims 
of  every  kind  of  guilt  :  and  in  this  controversy  you  have 
taken  the  wrong  side.  It  is  a  sad,  a  very  sad  thing,  for  a 
child  like  you  to  linger  forever  in  guilt  and  misery,  but  it 
would  be  a  far  more  melancholy  thing  for  the  rebellion 
against  God,  which  has  poisoned  all  the  sources  of  happiness 
here,  to  spread  throughout  God's  empire,  withering  and  de- 
stroying wherever  it  comes.  So  that  the  charge  against  you 
is  not  based  upon  the  injury  which  your  individual  sins  have 
already  produced  ;  but  upon  this,  namely,  that  by  deliberately 
rejecting  God,  you  take  the  side  of  sin  and  misery ;  you  do 
all  in  your  power  to  bring  off  God's  creatures  from  their  al- 
legiance to  him  ;  you  place  yourself  exactly  across  the  way 
over  which  the  mighty  wheels  of  Jehovah's  government  are 
coming,  and  the  chariot  can  not  be  turned  aside  to  save  you, 
without  destruction  to  the  rest. 

But  we  must  return  once  more  to  the  forgery,  for  the  sake 
of  deducing  one  farther  inference,  and  then  we  take  our  final 
leave  of  the  illustration. 

8.  Sin  may  be  overruled  so  as  to  result  in  good.  I  intro- 
duce this  subject  with  great  hesitation,  for  it  opens  one  of 
those  obscure  and  boundless  fields  of  thought,  which  are  not 
unfrequently  presenting  themselves  before  us  in  looking  into 
the  mighty  government  of  God.  Clouds  and  mists  hang 
over  it ;  some  objects  are  eftitirely  concealed,  and  some  we 
see  but  indistinctly,  notwithstanding  our  most  eager  efforts 
to  fix  their  forms.  Now  and  then  the  shades  and  darkness 
break  away  a  little,  and  we  get  a  glimpse,  far  on  in  a  per- 
spective of  difficulty  and  doubt ;  but  before  we  have  time  to 
fix  the  knowledge  which  we  have  obtained,  the  clouds  close 
in  again,  and  all  is  once  more  darkness  and  gloom.  The 
self-sufficient  and  shallow  intellect,  which  never  really  thinks, 
but  takes  upon  trust  what  its  leaders  tell  it,  or  studies  only 
to  find  proof  of  what  it  is  determined,  at  all  events,  to  believe. 

G 


146  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Its  beneficial  effects.  Moral  impression. 

never  experiences  what  I  now  mean  ;  but  no  man  can  lay 
aside  authority,  and  shake  off  the  fetters  of  every  bias,  and 
come,  with  a  free,  untrammeled  mind,  to  look  into  the  moral 
government  of  God,  without  being  often  confounded  and  lost 
in  the  sublime  obscurities  which  continually  gather  round 
his  way.  I  make  these  remarks  because  it  is  to  such  an 
obscure  and  darkened  field  that  I  point  the  reader  now. 

Sin  may  be  overruled  for  good.  It  is  highly  probable  that 
the  forgery  which  we  have  been  considering,  resulted  in  the 
most  beneficial  effects  to  the  whole  community  affected  by  it. 
The  sin  and  the  penalty  which  followed,  were  most  conspic- 
uously displayed.  There  was  scarcely  a  man  in  the  whole 
British  empire  who  did  not  know  these  facts  at  the  time  of 
their  occurrence,  and  who  did  not  watch  the  progress  of  the 
efforts  which  were  made  to  save  the  criminal.  Every  one 
knew  that  the  administration  cherished  no  malicious  or 
resentful  feelings  against  the  sufferer ;  and  that  if  they  re- 
fused to  pardon  him,  it  was  only  because  the  public  safety, 
in  their  view,  imperiously  forbade  it.  Thus  the  attention  of 
the  whole  community  was  called  to  the  nature  and  conse- 
quences of  this  crime,  and  a  moral  impression  was  produced 
which  must  have  been  inconceivably  beneficial  in  its  effects. 
The  case  made  men  look  with  a  feeling  of  respect,  almost 
amounting  to  awe,  upon  the  written  signature  ; — and  attach 
a  sacredness  to  it,  which,  though.it  is  nothing  more  than  a 
mental  impression,  is  probably  one  of  the  greatest  safeguards 
to  property  which  the  institutions  or  customs  of  civilized  life 
afford.  We  do  not  mean  that  this  instance  has  been  the 
sole  promoter  of  this  feeling ;  but  that  instances  like  this 
have  produced  it ;  and  this  has  been  efficient  above  all 
others,  just  in  proportion  as  it  has  been  conspicuous  beyond 
the  rest. 

The  effect  of  the  moral  impression  produced  by  this  forgery 
and  its  punishment,  was  not  confined  to  the  particular  class 


PUNISHMENT.  147 


Good  often  done  by  the  commission  and  the  punishment  of  sin. 


of  offenses  which  it  brought  more  directly  to  view.  It  sus- 
tained the  general  authority  of  law.  It  spoke,  in  a  voice 
which  could  not  be  misunderstood,  of  the  nature  of  guilt,  and 
the  ground  and  the  necessity  of  punishment;  and  it  sent 
forth  a  warning  to  every  village  and  neighborhood  in  the 
land, — a  warning  which  has  been  remembered  to  this  day. 
The  transaction  has,  in  fact,  been  appealed  to  continually, 
from  that  time  to  this,  in  proof  of  the  incorruptible  majesty 
of  British  law. 

So  true  is  this,  that  if  an  English  statesman  at  the  time, 
had  regarded  only  the  effect  of  the  transaction  upon  the 
community,  he  would  not  have  regretted  its  occurrence.  If 
he  could  have  overlooked  the  misery  of  the  poor  criminal,  he 
would  even  have  rejoiced  at  it,  as  a  transaction  destined  to 
result  in  immense  public  benefit.  In  fact  it  has  undoubtedly 
often  happened  that  a  government  has  actually  rejoiced  in 
the  commission  of  an  individual  crime  which  could  be  made, 
by  exemplary  punishment,  the  means  of  producing  a  moral 
impression  which  would  save  the  community  from  some 
general  threatening  danger.  Yes  ;  where  the  circumstances 
of  the  offense  have  been  favorable  for  this  purpose,  they  have 
actually  rejoiced  at  it.  They  have  rejoiced,  too,  not  merely 
that  the  criminal  was  detected,  but  that  the  crime  was  com- 
mitted,— as  it  gave  them  the  opportunity  to  arrest  far  greater 
evils  than  the  suffering  of  the  offender.  The  most  humane 
and  benevolent  magistrate,  and  even  the  teacher  of  a  school 
or  the  father  of  a  family,  will  often  find  cases,  where  the 
moral  effects  produced  upon  the  community  under  his  care, 
by  some  offense  and  its  consequences,  have  been  so  beneficial 
that  he  can  hardly  regret  the  occurrence.  "We  may  go  even 
farther  than  this.  If  it  had  come  within  the  power  of  a 
statesman  to  do  it,  and  if  he  had  looked  only  at  the  general 
good,  and  not  at  the  sufferings  of  the  individual,  he  could  not 
have  adopted  a  wiser  measure,  to  strengthen  general  confi 


148  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


DiflSculty.  Divine  power  over  the  human  heart.  The  traveler. 

(lence  in  the  authentication  of  a  document  by  a  written 
name,  than  by  actually  producing  such  a  conspicuous  case 
of  forgery,  and  inflicting  its  punishment.  Of  course,  to  do 
this  is  entirely  beyond  the  limits  of  human  power ;  and  the 
mind  shrinks  back  baffled  and  bewildered  from  the  vain 
attempt  to  understand  the  degree  of  power  which  God  can 
exercise  in  respect  to  the  moral  agency  of  the  beings  he  has 
formed.  Does  any  thing  depend  upon  contingencies  which 
he  can  not  control  ?  If  not,  then  it  would  seem  that  there 
is  not  any  thing,  not  even  transgression,  which  is  not  a  part 
of  his  design.  The  origin  of  sin,  and  the  reasons  why  it  is 
permitted,  if  he  only  permits  it,  or  ordained,  if  we  consider 
him  in  all  things  absolute  and  supreme,  is  a  subject  in  which 
the  human  faculties  are  confounded  and  lost.  It  opens  be- 
fore us  one  of  those  vistas  of  dread  uncertainty  and  doubt, 
which  we  have  already  described.  Shall  we  assign  any 
limits  to  the  sovereignty  of  Almighty  God,  in  regard  to  the 
moral  conduct  of  his  creatures  ?  Conflicting  feelings  declare 
that  we  must,  and  that  we  must  not ;  and  reason  stands 
overwhelmed  and  confounded  by  the  grandeur  and  the  pro- 
foundness of  the  recesses,  which  she  attempts,  in  vain,  to 
explore.  We  are  like  the  traveler,  lost  at  midnight  in  the 
dark  glens  of  the  mountains,  where  frowning  precipices  hang 
over  his  head,  and  forests,  in  silence  and  solitude,  stretch 
away  before  him.  Mists  float  through  the  valleys,  and  heavy 
clouds  hang  over  the  summits  of  the  mountains  or  move 
slowly  along  their  sides.  A  momentary  opening  admits  to 
his  straining  eyes  a  vista  of  grove  and  cliff'  and  glen,  which 
the  moon,  brightening  for  an  instant,  reveals  to  him ;  but 
before  he  has  time  to  separate  reality  from  shadow,  or  to  gain 
one  distinct  impression,  the  heavy  cloud  rolls  over  him  again, 
shuts  out  his  light,  cuts  off"  his  view,  and  leaves  him  bewil- 
dered and  in  darkness.  It  is  so  with  many  a  region  of  reli- 
gious truth.     The  human  mind,  when  it  has  fairly  entered 


PUNISHMENT.  149 


Spirit  of  controversy.  God  is  to  be  feared.  The  Savior. 

it,  is  bewildered  and  lost  in  the  mazy  scene.  Sometimes  an 
opening  in  the  clouds  in  which  it  is  enveloped,  gives  a  mo- 
mentary and  partial  glimpse  of  the  objects  around,  and  while 
the  thoughts  are  eagerly  reaching  forward  through  the  vista, 
almost  thinking  that  every  cloud  is  about  to  break  away  and 
disappear,  thick  shades  and  darkness  come  over  it  again, 
Hope  revives  for  a  moment,  as  the  moonlight  beam  of  reason 
feebly  shines  on  some  new  object,  in  some  new  direction ; 
but  it  revives  only  to  be  again  extinguished  as  before.  Into 
this  scene  noisy  controversy  loves  to  enter,  to  dispute  about 
what  she  can  not  see,  and  to  profane  the  sublimity  which  she 
can  not  appreciate  ;  but  intelligent  and  humble  piety  stands 
awed,  submissive  and  silent,  feeling  her  own  helpless  feeble- 
ness, and  adoring  the  incomprehensible  majesty  of  God. 

But  to  return  ;  "  God  is  love,"  is  one  part  of  the  inspired 
delineation  of  his  character.  "  God  is  a  consuming  fire,"  is 
equally  distinct,  and  it  comes  from  equally  high  authority. 
There  is,  however,  a  common  understanding  among  men 
that  they  will  read  and  appreciate  the  former  declaration, 
while  the  latter  is  almost  wholly  passed  by.  In  fact,  there 
is  among  many  persons,  and  even  sometimes  among  Chris- 
tians, a  feeling  that  God  must  be  considered  and  represented 
as  a  father  only,  not  as  a  magistrate  ;  children  must  be 
taught  to  love  him,  not  to  fear  him ;  and  those  terrible  de- 
nunciations which  frown  on  every  page  of  the  Bible  are  kept 
out  of  view.  It  is  even  thought  by  many  persons  that  there 
is  a  kind  of  harshness  and  inhumanity  in  representing  God  as 
he  is,  a  God  of  terrible  majesty,  and  in  holding  up  distinctly 
and  clearly  to  view  the  awful  retributions  which  he  threatens, 
with  any  design  to  deter  men  by  fear,  from  breaking  his  laws. 
But  Jesus  Christ  thought  not  so.  '*Fear  him,"  says  he, 
"who  can  destuoy  both  soul  and  body  in  hell.  Yea  I 
say  unto  you,  fear  him."      He  never  shrunk  from  bringing 


160  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Insensibility  to  God's  threatened  judgments.  A  form  of  unbelief. 

fully  to  view  the  undying  worm, — the  ceaseless  torment, — 
the  inextinguishable  fire.  We  are  too  benevolent,  say  some, 
to  believe  such  things,  or  to  teach  such  things.  Then  they 
are  more  benevolent  than  the  Savior.  He  had  love  enough 
for  men  to  tell  them  plainly  the  truth ;  but  these,  it  seems, 
have  more.  I  do  not  speak  here  merely  of  those  who  openly 
deny  the  declarations  of  the  Bible  on  this  subject,  but  of  a 
very  large  portion  of  the  Christian  church,  who  never  trem- 
ble themselves,  or  teach  their  children  to  tremble,  at  the 
wrath  to  come.  Many  a  Christian  reader  of  the  Bible  passes 
over  its  pages,  thinking  that  such  truths  are  all  for  others, 
when  in  fact  they  are  peculiarly  needed  by  himself  He  is  a 
professor  of  religion,  he  thinks  that  his  peace  is  made  with 
God,  and  that  consequently  the  terrors  of  a  coming  judgment 
are  nothing  to  him.  In  the  mean  time,  he  leads  a  worldly 
life, — he  does,  day  after  day,  what  he  knows  to  be  wrong,— 
frustrating  the  grace  of  God,  by  making  his  vain  hope  of  for- 
giveness the  very  opiate  which  lulls  him  into  sin.  As  to 
threatened  punishment,  it  passes  by  him  like  the  idle  wind. 
God  is  a  father,  he  says ;  his  government  is  paternal ;  and 
the  language  which  proclaims  his  threatened  judgments  is 
eastern  metaphor,  or,  if  it  has  any  serious  meaning,  it  is  in- 
tended for  others,  not  for  him. 

If,  however,  we  look  throughout  the  Bible  for  the  subject 
which  is  presented  with  the  greatest  prominence  and  em- 
phasis there,  the  one  which  is  pressed  most  directly,  with 
reference  to  a  strong  and  continual  influence  upon  human 
minds,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  the  unshrinking  and  terrible 
decision,  with  which,  under  the  government  of  God,  sin  will 
be  punished ;  and  yet  how  very  few  there  are,  even  in  the 
most  enlightened  Christian  community,  and  in  the  very  bo- 
som of  the  church,  who  stand  in  any  daily  fear  of  the  judg- 
ment to  come.  So  settled  and  universal  is  this  feeling,  that 
gome  readers  will  perhaps  be  surprised  at  the  idea,  that  fear 


PUNISHMENT.  151 


Christians  should  be  affected  by  it.  Probation.  Debt  and  credit. 


of  God's  judgments  should  have  a  place  in  the  bosom  of  the 
church.  "  There  is  no  fear  in  love,"  they  will  say  ;  "  perfect 
love  casteth  out  fear."  So  it  does,  but  it  must  be  'perfect  love  ; 
and  when  a  church  has  attained  to  this, — when  sin  is  ban- 
ished from  every  soul, — and  the  world  is  finally  abandoned, 
— and  God  reigns,  in  supreme,  and  unquestioned,  and  unin- 
terrupted sway, — and  every  heart  is  a  temple  of  perfect 
purity  and  holiness, — ^then  may  its  members  cease  to  think 
of  the  danger  of  God's  displeasure.     Then  ;  but  not  till  then. 

The  great  foundation  of  the  almost  universal  unbelief 
which  prevails,  in  respect  to  the  consequences  of  sin,  rests  in 
the  heart.  Man  is  unwilling  to  believe  what  condemns  and 
threatens  himself.  But  while  the  origin  is  in  the  heart,  the 
intellect  assists  in  maintaining  the  delusion,  and  this  chiefly 
through  the  mistake  of  considering  moral  obligation  as  of  the 
nature  of  debt  and  credit,  instead  of  regarding  God's  govern- 
ment as  it  really  is,  a  system  of  probation.  The  meaning  of 
probation  is  understood  well  enough  in  reference  to  this 
world.  Young  men  are  led  to  see  that  there  are  certain 
crises  in  their  lives  when  immense  and  irretrievable  conse- 
quences depend  upon  the  action  of  an  hour.  This  is  well 
known  ; — the  principle  is  interwoven  into  all  the  providential 
arrangements  of  life.  Men  do  not  complain  of  it ;  they  see 
practically  its  fitness.  But  when  they  come  to  look  at  the 
attitude  in  which  they  stand  toward  God,  the  idea  of  proba- 
tion gives  way  to  that  of  debt  and  credit, — and  they  go  to 
estimating  their  sins, — and  to  calculating  the  time  that  they 
have  spent  in  committing  them,  and  they  bring  on  their  off*- 
sets  of  good  deeds, — and  then  consider  what  amount  of  sufi^er- 
ing  is  necessary  to  close  the  account. 

In  order  to  show  how  momentous  are  the  consequences 
which  often  depend  upon  a  very  brief  period  of  trial,  let  us 
take  a  very  common  case.  A  boy  of  twelve  years  old  brought 
up  by  Christian  parents  in  some  quiet  village,  is  sent  at  last 


152 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  young  man. 


Leaving  home. 


to  the  metropolis,  into  a  commercial  establishment,  where  he 
is  to  commence  the  duties  of  active  life.  As  his  mother  gives 
him  her  last  charge,  and  with  forced  smiles,  but  with  a 
bursting  heart,  bids  him  good-bye,  he  thinks  he  can  not  yield 
to  any  temptation  which  can  beset  him.  For  many  days, 
and  perhaps  weeks,  he  is  strong.     He  is  alone,  though  in  a 


crowded  city ;  his  heart,  solitary  and  sad,  roams  back  to  his 
native  hills,  and  recalls  a  thousand  incidents  of  childhood  ; 
conscience,  foreseeing  the  struggles  that  are  to  come,  is  busy 
in  his  heart,  retouching  every  faint  and  fading  moral  impres- 
sion which  years  gone  by  had  made  there.  He  looks  upon 
the  diseased  and  abandoned  profligates  around  him  with  hor- 
ror, and  shrinks  instinctively  back  from  the  very  idea  of  vice. 
Every  night  he  reads  a  passage  in  the  beautiful  Bible  which 
was  packed  by  stealth  in  his  trunk,  with  his  father's   and 


PUNISHMENT.  153 


Allurements  of  sin.  Tho  crisis.  The  sore  temptation  and  the  struggle. 

mother's  names  upon  the  blank  page  ;  and  he  prays  God  for 
strength  and  help  to  enable  him  to  be  faithful  in  duty,  and 
grateful  to  them. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  the  world  is  somewhat 
changed  to  him.  He  does  not  love  his  parents  and  his  early 
home  the  less,  perhaps,  but  he  thinks  of  new  scenes  and  new 
employments  a  little  more.  He  forms  acquaintances  and 
hears  sentiments  and  language  which  he  must,  in  heart,  con- 
demn, though  he  does  it  more  and  more  faintly  at  each  suc- 
cessive repetition.  He  engages  with  his  new  comrades  in 
plans  of  enjoyment  which  he  feels  are  questionable.  Either 
they  are  positively  wrong,  or  else  his  previous  notions  have 
been  too  strict ;  he  can  not  exactly  decide  which,  and  he  ac- 
cordingly tries  them  more  and  more,  occasionally  reasoning 
with  himself  in  regard  to  their  character,  but  coming  to  no 
absolute  decision.  He  does  not  think  of  home  so  much  as  he 
did  ; — somehow  or  other  there  are  melancholy  thoughts  con- 
nected with  it, — and  he  finds  it  less  easy  and  pleasant  to 
write  to  his  parents.  He  used  to  have  a  letter,  well  filled, 
always  ready  for  any  private  opportunity  which  accident 
might  furnish ;  but  now,  he  writes  seldom,  though  he  apol- 
ogizes very  freely  for  his  seeming  neglect,  and  expects  every 
week  to  have  more  time. 

At  last,  some  Saturday  afternoon,  the  proposal  comes  up 
among  his  companions,  to  go  off  on  the  morrow  on  a  party 
of  pleasure.  It  is  not  made  directly  to  him,  but  it  is  in  his 
hearing,  and  he  knows  that  he  is  included  in  the  plan,  and 
must  decide  in  favor  of,  or  against  it.  A  party  of  pleasure, — 
of  innocent  recreation,  they  call  it.  He  knows  it  is  a  party  of 
dissipation  and  vice, — and  formed,  too,  for  that  sacred  day 
which  God  commands  him  to  keep  holy.  He  says  nothing, 
and  from  the  silent  and  almost  indifferent  air  which  he  assumes 
while  they  loudly  and  eagerly  discuss  the  plan,  you  would 
suppose  that  he  was   an  unconcerned  spectator.     But   no ; 


164 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Results  depending. 


Consequences  of  a  defeat. 


"^    -^  ^<(^j^ 


THE   TEMPTATION. 


look  at  him  more  at- 
tentively. Is  not  his 
cheek  a  little  pale  ? 
Is  there  not  a  slight 
quiver  upon  his  lip  ? — 
and  a  slight  tremor  in 
his  limbs,  as  he  leans 
upon  a  chair,  as  if  his 
strength  were  failing 
him  a  little?  These 
external  indications  are 
very  slight,  but  they 
are  the  indications  of  a 
sinking  of  the  spirit 
within,  as  he  feels  that 
the  moral  forces  are 
taking  sides,  and  mar- 
shaling themselves  in  array  for  the  struggle  which  must  come 
on.  Conscience  does  not  speak ; — but  he  knows,  he  feels, 
how  she  will  speak,  before  this  question  is  decided.  Inclina- 
tions which  are  beginning  to  grow  powerful  by  indulgence, 
do  not  yet  draw,  but  he  knows  how  they  will  draw  ;  and  the 
blood  falls  back  upon  his  heart,  and  strength  fails  from  his 
limbs,  as  he  foresees  the  contest.  It  seems  as  if  the  combat- 
ants were  drawing  up  their  forces  in  gloomy  silence,  waiting, 
by  common  consent,  till  the  time  shall  arrive,  and  the  signal 
be  given,  for  their  deadly  struggle. 

The  armistice  continues,  with  slight  interruptions,  until  he 
leaves  his  companions,  and  having  closed  the  business  of  the 
day,  walks  toward  his  home.  But  there  are  within  him  the 
elements  of  war,  and  as  soon  as  he  retires  to  his  solitary  room, 
and  the  stimulus  and  excitement  of  external  objects  are  re- 
moved, the  contest  is  begun.  I  need  not  describe  it ;  I  can 
have  no  reader  who  does  not  understand  the  bitterness  of  the 


PUNISHMENT.  165 


Probation.  Nature  of  it. 

struggle  which  ensues,  when  duty,  and  conscience,  and  the 
command  of  God,  endeavor  to  maintain  their  stand  against 
the  onset  of  sore  temptation.  Human  beings  have  occasion 
to  know  what  this  is,  full  well. 

Besides,  it  is  not  to  the  particular  circumstances  of  the  con- 
test in  such  a  case  that  I  wish  to  turn  the  attention  of  the 
reader,  but  to  this  fact :  that  very  probably,  on  the  event  of 
this  single  struggle,  the  whole  character  and  happiness  of  the 
young  man  for  life  depend.  He  may  not  see  it  so  at  the  time, 
but  it  may  be  so  notwithstanding.  If  duty  gains  the  victory 
here,  her  next  contest  will  be  achieved  more  easily.  There 
is  a  double  advantage  gained,  for  the  strength  of  moral  prin- 
ciple is  increased,  and  the  pressure  of  subsequent  attacks 
upon  it  is  diminished.  The  opposing  forces  which  such  a 
young  man  must  encounter,  in  taking  the  right  stand,  are  far 
moie  powerful  than  those  which  tend  to  drive  him  from  it, 
when  once  it  is  taken.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  yields  here, 
he  yields  probably  forever.  Conscience  stands  rebuked  and 
silenced  ;  guilty  passions  become  tumultuous  for  future  grati- 
fication ;  impure  and  unholy  thoughts  pollute  his  mind  ;  and 
though  remorse  may  probably,  for  a  long  time  to  come,  at 
intervals  more  and  more  distant,  and  in  tones  more  and  more 
faint,  utter  reproaches  and  warnings,  he  will,  in  all  proba- 
bility, go  rapidly  down  the  broad  road  of  vice  and  sin.  All 
this  is  not  fancy,  but  fact.  It  is  the  sober  history  of  hundreds 
of  young  men,  who  go  down  every  year  to  ruin,  in  precisely 
this  way.  They  have  their  time  of  trial ;  the  time  when 
they  are  put  to  the  test ;  a  crisis,  which,  in  many,  many 
cases,  is  over  in  a  few  hours,  but  whose  awful  consequences 
extend  through  a  life  of  misery,  and  are  not  stopped,  even  by 
the  grave. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  supposed  that  all  the  miseries  of  a  life 
of  vice  ought  not  to  be  charged  upon  the  hour  when  the  first 
step  was  taken,  but  should  be  considered  as  the  consequences 


156  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Sin  perpetuates  itself.  Its  worst  efiFects.  Wandering  from  God. 

of  the  repeated  acts  of  transgression  which  the  individual 
goes  on  to  commit.  We  have  no  objection  to  this  at  all,  but 
it  does  not  relieve  the  hour  of  the  first  transgression  from  any 
portion  of  its  responsibility ;  for  this  very  disposition  to  go  on 
in  sin,  is  the  direct  result  of  the  first  transgression  ;  and  it  is 
the  very  worst  result  of  it.  If  the  first  sin  left  the  heart  in  a 
right  state,  the  conscience  tender,  and  guilty  passions  sub- 
dued ;  and  if  nothing  was  to  follow  from  it  but  simple  suffer- 
ing, even  if  it  were  suffering  for  years,  it  would  be  compar- 
atively nothing.  The  greatest,  the  most  terrible  of  all  the 
evils  which  result  from  the  first  indulgence  of  sin,  is,  that  it 
leads  almost  inevitably  to  a  second  and  a  third.  The  tyrant 
takes  advantage  of  his  momentary  power  to  rivet  his  fetters, 
and  to  secure  his  victim  in  hopeless  slavery.  So  that  if  a 
young  man  spends  one  night  in  sin,  the  great  evil  is  not,  that 
he  must  suffer  the  next  day,  but  that  he  will  go  on  sinning 
the  next  day.  He  brings  heart,  and  conscience,  and  ungodly 
passions  into  such  a  relative  condition  that  he  will  go  on. 
There  is  not  half  as  much  to  stop  him,  as  there  was  to  pre- 
vent his  setting  out,  so  that  the  first  transgression  has  for  its 
consequences,  not  only  its  own  peculiar  miseries,  but  all  the 
succeeding  steps  in  the  declivity  of  sin,  together  with  the 
attendant  suffering,  which,  to  the  end  of  time,  follow  in 
their  train. 

All  this  is  true,  though  not  universally,  in  respect  to  the 
vices  and  crimes  of  human  life.  I  say  not  universally,  for 
the  wanderer  does,  sometimes  of  his  own  accord,  stop  and 
return.  But  it  is  true  universally,  and  without  exception, 
of  the  broad  way  of  sin  against  God,  from  which  the  wan- 
derer, if  he  once  enters  it,  will  never,  of  his  own  accord,  turn 
back.  Take  the  first  step  here,  and  all  is  lost.  The  incli- 
nation to  return  never  comes.  The  whole  Bible  teaches  us, 
that  sin  once  admitted,  whether  it  be  by  a  spotless  spirit  be- 
fore the  throne  of  God,  or  by  a  tender  infant  here,  establishes 


PUNISHMENT.  167 


Can  the  sinner  return  ?  Will  the  sinner  return  ? 

its  fixed  and  perpetual  reign.  Can  not  the  sinner  return  ? 
the  reader  perhaps  may  ask.  Can  not  the  fallen  spirit  or 
sinning  man,  give  up  his  warfare  and  come  back  to  God  ? 
Can  not  Dives,  who  neglected  and  disobeyed  God  when  on 
earth,  seek  his  forgiveness  and  his  favor  now  ?  We  have 
nothing  to  do  with  these  questions ;  the  inquiry  for  us  to 
make  is,  not  whether  they  can,  but  whether  they  will  return. 
The  Bible  assures  us  that  they  will  not ;  but  with  mankind 
around  us,  and  our  own  hearts  open  to  our  view,  we  scarcely 
need  its  testimony.  Sin  once  admitted,  the  soul  is  ruined. 
It  lies  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins  ;  going  farther  and  farther 
away  from  God,  and  sinking  continually  in  guilt  and  misery. 
It  may,  indeed,  while  in  this  state,  be  clothed  in  the  appear- 
ances of  external  virtue,  but  it  will  still  remain  hopelessly 
estranged  from  God,  so  deeply  corrupted,  and  so  wholly  lost, 
that  it  can  be  restored  to  purity  and  holiness  again,  only  by 
being  created  anew.  Sin  thus  does  more  than  entail  misery, 
— it  perpetuates  itself.  The  worst  of  all  its  consequences, 
is,  its  own  inevitable  and  eternal  continuance. 

The  question  is  very  often  asked,  whether  the  punishment 
of  sin  in  another  world,  will  consist  of  suffering  directly  in- 
flicted, or  only  of  the  evils  which  naturally  and  inevitably 
flow  from  sin.  The  distinction  between  these  two  species 
of  retribution  is  very  clear  in  respect  to  human  punishments, 
but  it  is  lost  at  once,  in  a  great  measure,  when  we  come  to 
the  government  of  God.  It  is  impossible  to  draw  the  line 
between  them,  because  whatever  consequences  follow  from 
sin  against  God,  they  are  so  uniformly  and  indissolubly  con- 
nected with  the  sin  itself  that  they  form  a  part  of  its  nature. 
In  fact,  it  is  not  enough  to  say  that  sin  brings  suffering, — it 
is  suffering.  Misery  is,  as  it  were,  an  essential  property  of 
it ;  but  whether  rendered  so  by  the  decision  of  Jehovah,  or 
by  an  original  and  absolute  necessity  in  the  very  nature  of 


158  THJi    CORNEtt-STOxXE. 


Grod  often  employs  suffering.  Arrangements  for  it  in  the  human  frame. 


things,  it  is  perhaps  impossible  for  human  powers  to  deter- 
mine. One  thing  is  certain,  however,  that  Jehovah  does  not 
shrink  from  the  direct  employment  of  suffering,  whenever  it 
is  necessary  to  accomplish  his  purposes.  It  is  a  painful  sub- 
ject, and  one  which,  probably,  a  vast  majority  of  readers 
would  prefer  to  have  passed  by ;  but  no  one  can  form  any 
correct  idea  of  his  Maker's  character,  or  know  at  all  what 
he  is  to  expect  at  his  hands,  without  being  fully  acquainted 
with  it. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  human  frame.  It  is  made  for 
health  and  happiness,  and  when  we  look  upon  a  countenance 
blooming  with  beauty,  and  observe  its  expression  of  quiet 
enjoyment,  we  feel  that  the  being  who  formed  it  is  a  God  of 
love.  But  we  must  not  forget,  that  within  that  very  bloom- 
ing cheek,  there  is  contrived  an  apparatus  capable  of  produ- 
cing something  very  different  from  enjoyment.  A  fibrous 
net- work  spreads  over  it,  coming  out  in  one  trunk  from  the 
brain,  extending  everywhere  its  slender  ramifications,  and 
sending  a  little  thread  to  every  point  upon  the  surface. 
What  is  this  mechanism  for  ?  Its  uses  are  many ;  but 
among  its  other  properties,  there  is  in  it  a  slumbering  power, 
which  may  indeed  never  be  called  into  action,  but  which 
always  exists,  and  is  always  ready,  whenever  God  shall  call 
it  forth,  to  be  the  instrument  of  irremediable  and  unutterable 
suffering.  We  admit  that  in  almost  every  case,  it  remains 
harmless,  and  inoperative  ;  still  it  is  there,  always  there,  and 
always  ready ;  and  it  is  called  into  action  whenever  God 
thinks  best.  And  it  is  not  merely  in  the  cheek,  but  through- 
out every  part  of  the  frame  that  the  apparatus  of  suffering 
lies  concealed  ;  and  it  is  an  apparatus  which  is  seldom  out 
of  order.  Sickness  deranges  and  weakens  the  other  powers, 
but  it  seldom  interferes  with  this ;  it  remains  always  at  its 
post,  in  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  brain,  the  hand, — in  every 
organ  and  every  limb,  and  always  ready  to  do  God's  bidding. 


PUNISHMENT.  159 


Uses  of  suffering.      Jehovah  is  to  be  feared.       Value  of  an  eflScient  government. 

Nor  is  it  useless ; — an  idle  preparation  of  instruments, 
never  to  be  employed.  It  is  called  into  action  often,  and 
with  terrific  power.  God  accomplishes  a  great  many  of  his 
most  important  purposes  by  it.  These  purposes  it  is  not  our 
business  now  to  examine,  though  there  can  be  scarcely  a 
more  interesting  field  of  inquiry  for  us,  than  the  uses  of 
suffering,  and  the  extent  to  which  God  employs  it  in  the 
accomplishment  of  his  plans.  These  purposes  are  all  benevo- 
lent, most  highly  so  ;  still,  sufferi7ig,  freely  employed,  is  the 
means  through  which  they  are  produced.  All  nature  thus 
corroborates  what  the  Scriptures  assert,  that  our  Maker  is 
not  only  a  father  to  be  loved,  but  a  magistrate  to  be  feared. 

The  dreadful  suffering,  which  God  has  in  providence  in- 
flicted upon  communities  and  individuals  for  the  violations 
of  his  laws,  can  not  be  described,  nor  can  they  be  conceived 
by  those  who  have  not  experienced  them.  We  know,  how- 
ever, something  of  their  power,  and  the  awful  extent  to 
which  retribution  for  sin  has  been  poured  out  upon  men.  It 
is,  indeed,  far  pleasanter,  in  examining  the  character  of  God, 
and  his  dealings  with  us,  to  dwell  upon  the  proofs  of  his  love, 
than  upon  those  of  his  anger  ;  but  we  must  not  yield  to  the 
inclination,  so  as  to  go  to  the  Judgment  with  expectations  of 
lenity  and  forbearance  which  we  shall  not  find.  It  is  best 
to  know  the  whole,  and  to  be  prepared  for  it ;  and  not  to 
attempt  to  avoid  a  coming  storm,  by  denying  its  approach, 
or  shutting  our  eyes  to  the  evidences  of  its  destructive  power 

Still,  however,  the  feelings  which  a  knowledge  of  God's 
character  as  a  magistrate,  will  awaken  in  us,  will  depend  in 
a  great  degree  upon  the  side  which  we  take  in  respect  to 
obedience  to  his  law.  An  efficient  government  is  a  terror  to 
evil-doers,  but  it  has  no  terrors  for  those  who  do  well.  We 
all  love  to  be  under  the  dominion  of  just  and  righteous  laws, 
and  if  we  are  disposed  to  obey  them  ourselves,  we  like  to 
have  them  inflexibly  administered  in  respect  to  others.     If, 


160  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Conclusion. 


therefore,  to  any  of  our  readers  the  subject  of  this  chapter  is 
a  gloomy  one,  we  assure  them,  in  conclusion,  that  they  may 
divest  it  of  all  its  gloom,  by  giving  up  sin  and  returning  to 
duty.  When  we  think  of  the  ravages  of  sin  in  this  world, 
the  cruelty,  the  oppression  and  indescribable  miseries  which 
it  has  brought  down  upon  its  victims,  we  feel  that  we  need 
an  efficient  and  a  strong  protector.  We  must  be  more  or 
less  exposed  a  little  longer  here  to  its  baneful  influences,  but 
the  time  will  come  when  we  shall  enjoy  full  protection  and 
perfect  safety ;  and  though  we  can  not  but  feel  sorrowful 
and  sad,  to  reflect  that  any  of  pur  fellow-beings  are  to  be 
shut  up  at  last  in  an  eternal  prison,  we  still  can  not  but  re- 
joice that  the  time  will  come,  when  neglect  and  disobedience 
toward  God,  and  selfish  and  ungovernable  passions  toward 
man,  will  be  confined,  and  separated  from  all  that  is  pure 
and  holy,  by  a  gulf  that  they  can  not  pass  over.  We  know 
that  this  little  planet,  with  all  its  millions,  is  as  nothing 
among  the  countless  worlds  which  fill  the  wide-spread  re- 
gions all  around  it.  Into  those  regions  we  can  not  but  hope 
that  sin  and  misery  have  not  yet  extended.  There  may  be, 
we  hope  that  there  is,  unbroken  peace  and  happiness  and 
virtue  there.  The  destructive  disease  which  has  raged  hero 
for  forty  centuries,  spreading  misery  and  ruin  everywhere, 
can  be  controlled  and  stopped  only  by  Jehovah's  hand.  All 
depends  upon  him ;  and  the  only  hope  of  our  ever  finding  a 
safe  and  quiet  home,  where  we  can  once  more  be  protected 
and  happy,  depends  upon  the  firm  and  inflexible  decision 
with  which  he  manages  this  case  of  rebellion.  He  must  not 
pardon,  unless  he  can  pardon  safely.  He  must  not  endanger 
the  peace  and  happiness  of  his  empire,  to  save  the  compara- 
tively few  who  have  deliberately  rejected  his  reign. 


PARDON.  161 


Pardon  possible.  Always  desirable  when  it  is  i 


CHAPTER    VI. 

PARDON,     OR     CONSEQUENCES     SAVED. 

"  God  hath  not  appointed  us  to  wrath,  but  to  obtain  salvation  by  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  who  died  for  us,  that,  whether  we  wake  or  sleep,  we  should  Uve  together 
with  him." 

Notwithstanding  all  that  was  said  in  the  last  chapter,  in 
respect  to  the  necessity  of  the  most  vigorous  and  energetic 
measures  in  arresting  the  consequences  of  sin,  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  pardon  ; — forgiveness,  perfectly  free,  and  yet  per- 
fectly safe.  There  are  various  ways  by  which  the  object  of 
punishment  can  be  secured,  without  punishment  itself, — 
though  these  various  modes  are  perhaps  only  different  appli- 
cations of  the  same  or  similar  principles.  The  objects  of  law 
and  penalty  are  to  hold  up  to  the  community  distinctly  the 
nature  and  the  effects  of  sin, — ^to  make  a  strong  moral  im- 
pression against  it,  and  thus  to  erect  a  barrier  which  shall 
prevent  its  extension.  A  wise  parent  or  teacher,  who  feels 
the  necessity  of  being  firm  and  decisive  in  government,  will 
find  a  great  many  cases  occur,  in  which  punishment  that  is 
really  deserved,  is  still  not  necessary  ;  that  is,  when  the  ob- 
jects enumerated  above  can  be  attained  without  it.  Now 
every  wise  parent  and  teacher  desires  to  save  suffering  where- 
ever  it  can  be  saved,  and  though  there  is  great  evil  in  doing 
this  when  it  can  not  be  done  safely,  still  there  are  cases 
where  it  certainly  is  safe. 

The  reader  is  requested  to  call  to  mind  here,  the  story  of 
the  lost  cap,  given  at  the  commencement  of  the  third  chap- 


10'^  THE    CORNER-STONt:. 


The  story  of  the  lost  cap.  The  teacher's  motives, 

ter  of  this  work.  It  was  there  introduced  for  another  pur- 
pose, but  it  illustrates  well  the  point  which  we  have  here  in 
view.  The  course  which  the  teacher  pursued  in  that  case, 
was  undoubtedly  far  better  than  any  plan  of  punishment 
would  have  been.  Every  one  will  admit  this.  There  can 
not  be  a  question  in  the  mind  of  any  one  who  understands 
the  workings  of  human  nature  in  such  a  case,  that  the  course 
there  described,  was  admirably  adapted  to  secure  the  end  in 
view.  In  order  to  perceive  this,  however,  it  must  be  dis- 
tinctly understood,  what  the  real  object  of  punishment  is, 
namely,  to  produce  a  certain  influence  upon  the  community 
that  witnesses  it,  and  not  to  gratify  any  feeling  of  personal 
resentment  against  the  offender.  If  the  teacher,  in  that  case, 
had  been  a  passionate  man,  and  if  his  feelings  of  resentment 
had  been  aroused  at  the  misconduct  of  his  pupil,  he  never 
would  have  devised  such  a  plan  to  save  him.  It  is  difficuH, 
in  fact,  to  decide  which  appears  most  conspicuous  in  the 
case,  the  wish  on  the  part  of  the  teacher  to  promote  the 
highest  welfare  of  the  little  community  over  which  he  pre- 
sided, or  delicate  and  compassionate  interest  in  the  welfare 
of  the  offender.  Any  person  who  is  capable  of  perceiving 
moral  beauty  at  all,  will  see  that,  in  the  plan  which  he 
adopted,  both  these  feelings,  namely,  a  firm  and  steady  regard 
for  the  safety  of  the  community,  and  a  benevolent  interest  in 
the  transgressor,  were  singularly  and  beautifully  blended. 

The  plan  was  in  substance  this :  he  substituted  his  own 
inconvenience  and  suffering  for  the  punishment  of  his  pupil, 
so  as  to  rely  upon  the  former  for  the  production  of  that  moral 
effect  which  would  naturally  have  resulted  from  the  latter  ; 
and  we  observe  three  things  in  the  character  of  the  transac 
tion,  which  are  of  importance  to  be  mentioned  here.  First, 
the  plan  originated  in  love  for  the  offender,  and  a  wish  to 
save  him  suffering.  Secondly,  it  was  exactly  adapted  to 
touch  his  feelings,  and  produce  a  real  change  in  his  heart, 


PARDON.  163 


Cases  common.  Not  precisely  analogous  to  the  plan  of  salvation. 


which  punishment  probably  would  not  have  effected. 
Thirdly,  it  secured  the  great  object,  the  right  moral  impres- 
sion upon  the  little  community  which  witnessed  it,  far  more 
perfectly  and  more  pleasantly  than  any  other  mode  could 
have  done.  The  whole  plan  is  an  instance  of  what  may  be 
called  moral  substitution, — putting  the  voluntary  suffering 
of  the  innocent,  in  the  place  of  the  punishment  of  the  guilty. 
This  principle,  substantially,  though  seldom  or  never  brought 
to  view  by  writers  on  rewards  and  punishments,  is  very  often 
applied  in  practice.  They  who  resort  to  it,  perceive,  in  the 
individual  cases,  by  a  kind  of  instinctive  feeling,  its  powerful 
and  healthful  effect,  though  they  may  not  perhaps  philoso- 
phize on  its  nature.  The  story  of  the  lost  cap,  is  a  specimen 
of  many  cases,  where  this  or  a  similar  principle  is  acted  upon 
by  intelligent  parents  or  teachers.  Each  particular  case, 
however,  is  different  from  the  others,  and  presents  the  prin- 
ciple in  a  different  aspect.  I  will  therefore  add  one  or  two 
others,  describing  them  as  they  actually  occurred.  Before 
proceeding,  however,  I  ought  distinctly  to  say,  that  no  human 
transactions  can  be  entirely  analogous  to  the  great  plan  of 
redeeming  man  from  sin  and  misery  by  the  sufferings  and 
death  of  Jesus  Christ.  They  may  partly  illustrate  it,  how- 
ever, some  conforming  to  it  in  one  respect,  and  some  in  an- 
other. The  reader  will  therefore  understand  that  I  offer 
these  cases  as  analogous  to  the  arrangement  made  for  saving 
men  through  the  atoning  sufferings  of  Jesus  Christ,  only  in 
the  general  principle  which  they  involve,  namely,  that  of 
moral  substitution, — accomplishing,  by  means  of  the  suffer- 
ing of  the  innocent,  what  is  ordinarily  secured  by  the  punish- 
ment of  the  guilty.  I  will  first  naention  a  very  trivial  case. 
I  give  this  rather  than  more  important  and  extraordinary 
ones,  because  it  is  more  likely  to  recall  to  the  minds  of 
parents  similar  instances  which  may  have  occurred  in  their 
own  government. 


164 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  broken  stucco. 


In  a  certain  school,  it  was  the  custom  for  the  pupils  to 
play  during  the  recesses,  in  the  school-room,  with  soft  balls, 
stuffed  lightly  with  cotton,  and  which  could  consequently  be 
thrown  without  danger.  The  use  of  hard  balls,  which  were 
sometimes  brought  to  the  school,  were  strictly  forbidden. 
One  morning,  as  the  teacher  entered  the  room,  and  was  just 
taking  his  seat  at  his  desk,  a  girl  approached  him,  with  a 
very  sad  and  sorrowful  look,  and  followed  by  several  of  her 
companions.  She  had  in  her  hands  some  fragments  of 
stucco. 


THK   FALLEN    STUCCO. 


"  Sir,"  said  she  sorrowfully,  holding  up  the  broken  pieces 
"  see  what  I  have  done." 

"  What  is  it,"  said  the  teacher. 

She  pointed  up  to  the  ceiling,  where  was  an  ornamented 
center-piece,  wrought  in  stucco,  and  said  she  had  broken  it  off 
from  that,  with  her  hard  ball. 


PARDON.  165 


Suffering  of  the  innocent  for  the  guilty.  Effects  of  the  substitution 


I 


It  was  very  evident  from  the  countenanee  of  the  offender, 
and  from  the  general  expression  of  concern  which  was  visible 
in  the  many  faces  which  were  turned  toward  the  group  at 
the  teacher's  desk,  that  she  herself,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
pupils,  felt  deeply  the  fact,  that  the  consequences  of  this 
breach  of  law  must  come  upon  the  teacher,  as  the  one 
intrusted  with  the  apartment,  and  responsible  for  it,  They 
were  attached  to  their  teacher,  and  would  rather  have  suffer- 
ed themselves  than  have  brought  inconvenience  and  trouble 
to  him  ;  and  he  perceived  by  a  glance  of  the  eye,  that  by 
this  means  a  moral  impression  was  made  far  more  effectual 
and  valuable  than  any  punishment  would  have  produced. 
In  a  word,  he  saw  that,  through  his  suffering,  the  offender 
might  safely  go  free.  If  no  injury  had  been  done,  he  would 
have  felt  bound  to  notice  very  seriously  any  violation  of  the 
law ;  but  since  the  injury  came  upon  him,  and  since  the  little 
community  was  in  such  a  state  that  it  would  feel  this  deeply, 
the  very  best,  the  very  wisest  thing  that  he  could  do,  was  to  pass 
over  the  offense  entirely.  A  rough,  passionate,  and  unthink- 
ing man,  might,  perhaps,  in  such  a  case,  have  rebuked,  with 
greater  sternness,  and  punished  with  greater  severity,  just  in 
proportion  to  the  inconvenience  and  trouble  which  the  offense 
brought  upon  him  ;  but  he  who  knows  human  nature,  and 
studies  the  adaptation  of  raioral  means  for  the  accomplishment 
of  moral  ends,  will  see  in  a  moment,  that  in  such  a  case  the 
mildest  punishment,  and  even  the  gentlest  reproof,  would 
weaken  the  impression,  and  that  the  way  to  make  the  most 
of  such  an  occurrence,  would  be  to  dismiss  the  sorrowful 
pupil  with  kind  words  in  respect  to  the  injury,  and  without 
a  syllable  about  her  sin.  This,  too,  is  moral  substitution; 
receiving,  through  the  sufferings  of  the  innocent,  the  advan- 
tages usually  sought  from  the  punishment  of  the  guilty. 

It  is  difficult  to  lay  down  general  principles  in  regard  to 
the  applications  of  this  principle  in  the  moral  education  of 


166  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  principle  often  applied.  Another  caae.  ■         The  students  and  the  joiners. 


the  young,  because  so  much  depends  upon  the  state  of  feeling 
of  the  parties  concerned,  at  the  time.  For  example,  in  the 
case  last  descjibed,  had  the  offender  been  not  penitent  and  not 
concerned,  and  had  a  feeling  of  cold  indifference  prevailed  in 
the  school-room,  in  regard  to  the  injury  which  had  been  done, 
the  course  taken  would  have  been  most  evidently  unwise,  and 
unsafe.  It  is  a  question  of  moral  impression  on  hearts, — an 
impression  in  favor  of  law,  and  against  the  breach  of  it, — 
and  it  is  only  where  this  impression  can  be  produced  better 
without  the  punishment  than  with  it,  that  there  can  be  any 
safe  remission.  It  is  however  unquestionably  true,  and  all 
parents  and  teachers  ought  to  keep  it  in  mind,  that  where 
any  wrong  act  performed  by  the  young  results  in  any  damage 
or  injury,  or  other  evil  consequences,  these  consequences,  in  a 
wise  and  dexterous  government,  will  lighten,  not  increase  the 
severity  of  reproof  and  punishment.  They  go  far  toward 
producing  the  very  impression  which  reproof  and  punishment 
are  intended  to  effect,  and  consequently,  they  diminish  the 
necessity  of  it.  Those  parents  and  teachers  who  take  little 
notice  of  offenses  when  they  are  harmless,  and  punish  them 
with  severity  when  followed  by  accidental  injury,  ought  to 
perceive  that  they  are  not  administering  moral  government, 
but  only  gratifying  their  own  feelings  of  resentment  and 
revenge. 

In  the  case  which  we  have  just  described,  the  injurious 
consequences  were  not  voluntarily  assumed  by  the  innocent 
individual  in  order  to  allow  the  guilty  one  to  be  forgiven. 
They  came  upon  him  without  any  consent  of  his.  The 
following  case  is  different  in  this  respect.  The  persons 
who  suffered  the  injury  here  voluntarily  assumed  it.  The 
case,  like  the  former,  is  described  exactly  as  it  occurred. 

At  one  of  the  New  England  colleges,  not  many  years  ago, 
a  company  of  joiners  were  employed  in  erecting  a  building. 
A  temporary  shed  had  been  put  up  in  the  college  yard,  where 


PARDON.  167 


I 


Mischief.  The  proposed  substitution. 

the  work  went  on,  and  where,  at  night,  the  tools  were  left, 
protected  only  by  the  honesty  of  the  neighborhood.  From 
some  cause  or  other,  a  feud  arose  between  some  of  the  work- 
men and  a  portion  of  the  students,  and  the  next  day,  when 
the  latter  came  to  their  work,  they  found  their  tools  scattered 
about  in  disorder,  and  in  a  very  bad  condition.  Planes  were 
gapped  and  notched,  saws  dulled,  chisel-handles  split,  and 
augers  had  been  bored  into  the  ground.  The  indignation 
which  this  wanton  injury  excited  on  the  part  of  the  workmen, 
threatened  very  serious  consequences.  Some  measure  of  re- 
taliation was  expected  from  the  mechanics,  which  of  course 
would  be  repaid  again  by  the  students,  and  thus  it  was 
feared  that  a  deadly  and  permanent  hostility  would  be  pro- 
duced. It  was  of  course  impossible  to  ascertain  the  authors 
of  the  mischief,  and  if  they  had  been  ascertained,  punish- 
ment would  probably  only  have  made  them  more  secret  in 
their  future  plans.  A  species  of  moral  substitution  removed 
the  difficulty  entirely.     The  plan  was  this. 

After  evening  prayers,  when  the  students  were  all  assem- 
bled, one  of  the  officers  stated  the  case  to  them, — described 
the  injury, — presented  an  estimate  of  its  amount,  and  pro- 
posed to  them  that  they  should  raise  by  voluntary  contribu- 
tion, a  sum  sufficient  to  remunerate  the  injured  workmen. 
"  There  is  no  just  claim  upon  you  for  this,"  said  he  ;  "none 
whatever.  The  mischief  was  indeed  undoubtedly  done  by 
some  of  you,  but  it  was  certainly  by  a  very  small  number, 
and  the  rest  are  not  in  any  degree  responsible  for  it.  Still, 
by  leaving  their  tools  so  completely  exposed,  the  workmen 
expressed  their  entire  confidence  in  you.  This  confidence 
must  now  be  shaken ;  but  if  you  take  the  course  I  propose, 
and  voluntarily  bear  the  injury  yourselves,  you  will  say, 
openly  and  publicly,  that  you  disavow  all  participation  in  the 
offense,  and  all  approval  of  it ;  and  you  will  probably  prevent 
its  repetition,  and  confidence  in  you  will  be  restored.     Still, 


168  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Its  effects.  Moral  impression.  Peculiarities  of  the  case. 


however,  there  is  no  ohligation  whatever  restingf  upon  you,  to 
do  what  I  propose.  I  make  only  a  suggestion,  and  you  will 
consider  and  decide  upon  it  as  you  please." 

The  students  were  then  left  to  themselves,  and  after  a  few 
minutes'  debate,  occasioned  by  a  slight  opposition  from  a  few 
individuals,  the  vote  was  carried  almost  unanimously,  to  re- 
pair the  injury.  The  money  was  contributed  and  paid.  The 
innocent  suffered,  and  the  guilty  went  free,  and  the  moral 
effect  of  the  transaction  was  most  happy.  The  whole  quarrel 
was  arrested  at  once.  The  tools  were  repaired  ;  and  thence- 
forward they  were  exposed  in  perfect  safety,  though  as  un- 
protected as  before. 

It  ought  to  be  stated  that  the  sum  necessary  for  repairing 
the  damage  in  this  case  was  a  very  trifling  one,  and  it  was 
not  at  all  the  amount  of  it  that  determined  the  moral  effect 
of  the  transaction.  Any  officer  of  the  college  would  have 
readily  paid  double  the  sum  himself  to  have  ended  the 
difficulty.  The  effect  was  not  produced  by  the  reparation, 
but  by  the  guilty  individuals'  seeing  that  their  innocent 
companions  would  assume  the  consequences  of  their  guilt. 
It  was  not  a  measure  of  ways  and  means,  but  of  moral 
impression. 

This  case  seems  different  from  the  preceding,  in  two  im- 
portant particulars.  The  first  is,  that  the  loss  was  borne, 
neither  by  the  offenders,  nor  by  the  magistracy,  but  by  a 
third  party,  not  directly  concerned  in  the  transaction.  The 
second  point  is,  there  was  in  this  case  no  evidence  that  the 
offenders  were  penitent.  In  fact,  the  plan  had  no  reference 
to  the  offenders  at  all.  Its  whole  aim  was  moral  impression 
upon  the  community.  The  offenders  themselves  succeeded 
in  escaping  in  this  instance,  not  through  any  plan  formed  for 
the  purpose  of  saving  them,  but  through  the  imperfection  of 
the  government,  which  had  no  means  of  detecting  them. 
Tbey  were  not  forgiven  ;  they  simply  escaped.     Generally, 


PARDON.  169 


The  offenders  not  penitent.         Favors  received  for  Christ's  sake.         Illustration. 

in  such  cases,  the  plan  devised  aims  at  the  accomphshment 
of  two  objects  ;  to  save  the  offender,  if  he  is  penitent,  and  to 
produce  the  right  moral  effect  upon  the  community.  Here, 
however,  the  former  was  no  part  of  the  design ;  it  was  the 
latter  exclusively.  Had  the  individuals  who  actually  per- 
petrated the  wrong  been  discovered,  and  had  they  been  found 
still  unchanged  in  heart,  justice  would  not  have  been  satis- 
fied, to  use  Dr.  Johnson's  language,  without  their  punish- 
ment. Still  the  other  great  design, — a  strong  moral  impres- 
sion upon  the  community,  to  arrest  the  progress  of  sin,  and  to 
create  a  universal  feeling  against  it,  was  well  secured 
through  the  voluntary  consent  of  the  innocent  to  suffer  the 
consequences  which  ought  justly  to  be  borne  by  the  guilty. 

All  these  are  cases  in  which  a  person  is  relieved,  through 
the  instrumentality  of  others,  from  sufferings  which  he  de- 
serves ;  and  it  is  equally  in  accordance  with  universally  ad- 
mitted principles  of  human  nature,  that  a  person  should  in 
the  same  manner  through  the  instrumentality  of  others  some- 
times be  admitted  to  enjoyments  which  he  himself  does  not 
deserve.  We  are  represented  as  not  only  being  forgiven 
through  Jesus  Christ,  but  as  receiving  every  blessing  and 
favor  for  his  sake.  This  seems  to  be  a  moral  substitution  of 
a  little  different  character,  but  it  is  exemplified  with  even 
greater  frequency  in  human  life,  than  the  other.  There  calls 
at  your  door,  late  at  night,  a  wandering  stranger,  and  asks 
admittance.  He  seems  destitute  and  wretched,  and  as  it  is 
not  convenient,  and  perhaps  not  even  safe,  to  admit  him  into 
your  family,  you  very  properly  direct  him  to  a  public  house 
at  a  little  distance,  and  supply  him  with  the  means  of  pro- 
curing a  reception  there.  Just  as  he  is  leaving  you,  you  im- 
agine you  recognize  something  familiar  in  his  features,  and 
on  inquiring  his  name,  you  find  he  is  the  son  of  one  of  your 
dearest  and  earliest  friends.  How  promptly  do  you  change 
your  plan,  and  bid  him  welcome,  and  endeavor  to  repay  by 

H 


170  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Moral  gOTeruments. 


your  hospitality  to  the  son,  the  favors  which  you  received  in 
days  long  past  from  the  father.  And  yet  it  is  in  fact  no  re- 
payment to  the  father.  It  may  be  that  he  has  been  long  in 
the  grave.  It  is  a  substitution  ;  and  there  is  an  universal, 
and  almost  instinctive  feeling  in  the  human  heart,  leading  us, 
under  certain  circumstances,  to  make  such  substitutions, — to 
show  favor  to  one,  on  account  of  obligation  to  another.  The 
apostle  Paul  understood  this  principle,  when  he  sent  back 
Onesimus  to  his  master,  and  endeavored  to  secure  for  him  a 
kind  reception  by  saying,  "  If  thou  count  me  a  partner,  receive 
him  as  myself." 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  it  has  not  been  our  object, 
in  the  preceding  illustrations,  to  find  a  parallel  among  human 
transactions  for  the  great  plan  adopted  in  the  government  of 
God,  to  render  safe  the  forgiveness  of  human  sins.  Such  a 
parallel,  precisely,  can  not  be  found.  All  that  we  have  been 
attempting  to  show  is,  that  the  principles  upon  which  the 
plan  is  based  have  a  deep-seated  foundation  in  the  very  con- 
stitution of  the  human  mind,  and  that  they  are  constantly 
showing  themselves,  more  or  less  perfectly,  whenever  a  real 
moral  government  is  intelligently  administered  here.  We  must 
look,  however,  for  such  exemplifications  of  these  principles, 
generally  in  the  government  .of  the  young ;  for  in  no  other 
case  in  this  world  is  a  government  properly  a  moral  one. 
The  administration  of  law  in  a  political  community,  is  a  dif- 
ferent thing  altogether.  It  is  simply  the  enforcement  of  a 
system  of  rules  of  action,  designed  almost  exclusively  for  the 
prevention  of  injury.  In  a  moral  government,  strictly  so 
called,  one  mind  superior  to  the  others,  presides  over  a  com- 
munity of  minds,  and  acts  upon  them  in  his  administration, 
with  reference  to  their  moral  welfare.  He  looks  beyond  mere 
external  action, — adapts  his  measures  to  moral  wants  and 
moral  feelings, — and  aims  at  an  influence  over  hearts.     A 


PARDON.  171 


Political  governments.  Differences. 

political  government,  though  often  confounded  with  this,  is 
distinct  in  its  nature,  and  aims  at  different  objects.  It  at- 
tempts only  the  protection  of  the  community  against  injury. 
Its  province  is  to  regulate  external  actions,  not  to  purify  and 
elevate  the  feelings  of  the  heart ;  and  it  does  this  by  endeav- 
oring to  enforce  certain  prescribed  rules,  relating  almost  ex- 
clusively to  overt  acts,  and  designed  merely  to  prevent  injury. 
This  difference  in  the  nature  and  design  of  a  political  gov- 
ernment, and  of  a  moral  government,  strictly  so  called,  is 
fundamental,  and  it  applies  with  peculiar  force  to  the  subjects 
which  we  are  considering.  In  fact  there  is,  properly  speak- 
ing, no  such  thing  as  forgiveness  in  human  jurisprudence. 
Legal  provision  is  indeed  made  for  what  is  called  pardon  ;  but 
this  is,  in  theory,  a  mode  of  arresting  punishment  where 
evidence  not  brought  forward  at  the  trial  comes  to  light  after- 
ward, or  where  peculiar  circumstances  which  the  strict 
principles  of  law  could  not  recognize  render  it  equitable  to 
remit  the  sentence.  In  practice,  it  goes  indeed  sometimes 
farther  than  this.  In  some  cases  the  executive,  overcome 
with  compassion  for  the  criminal,  liberates  hira  at  the  risk 
of  sacrificing  the  public  good.  In  other  cases,  by  a  common 
though  tacit  understanding,  pardons  are  granted  so  uniformly 
in  certain  cases,  as  to  amount  to  a  permanent  modification  of 
the  law.  But  such  a  remission  of  legal  penalties  as  this,  is  in 
its  nature  entirely  different  from  forgiveness.  It  is,  in  fact,  only 
the  exercise  of  a  discretionary  power,  lodged  in  suitable  hands, 
to  modify  the  inflexible  decisions  of  law,  when  equity,  in 
peculiar  circumstances,  demands  their  modification, — it  is  not 
real  forgiveness.  Real  forgiveness  in  political  government 
has  no  place.  We  must  look,  therefore,  among  the  young, 
where  alone  we  find  that  any  thing  like  moral  training  is 
the  object  of  government,  for  illustrations  of  the  principles  of 
God's  administration.  We  shall  find  them  however  here. 
A  wise  parent  or  teacher,  who  acts  intelligently,  and  watcheg 


172  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Two  motives  for  punishment. 


the  operation  of  moral  causes  and  effects  upon  the  hearts  un- 
der his  care,  will  often,  though  perhaps  insensibly,  adopt  these 
principles,  and  will  imitate,  almost  without  knowing  it,  tho 
plans  of  the  great  Father  of  all.  We  certainly  shall  find 
abundant  examples  of  the  operation  of  the  great  principles 
which  we  have  been  endeavoring  to  bring  to  view  :  namely, 
that  the  object  of  punishment  is  not  to  gratify  resentment 
against  an  individual,  but  to  promote  the  welfare  of  the  com- 
munity ;  that  it  can  not  safely  be  remitted,  unless  there  is 
something  to  take  its  place,  and  to  do  its  work,  in  produ- 
cing moral  impression  ;  and  that  this  end  can  not  generally 
be  attained  without  the  suffering  of  some  one  who  is  inno- 
cent, in  the  place  of  the  guilty. 

We  have  dwelt  upon  this  subject  perhaps  long  enough  al- 
ready, but  it  is  so  essential  to  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the 
young  Christian,  clearly  to  understand  it,  that  we  will  pre- 
sent it  in  one  other  point  of  view.  Let  us  suppose  that  a  fa- 
ther, when  sitting  with  his  children  around  his  evening  fire, 
accidentally  learns  that  one  of  them  has  played  truant  dur- 
ing the  day.  He  has  been  guilty  of  the  same  offense  once 
or  twice  before,  and  the  measures  which  were  adopted  then 
have  proved  to  be  ineffectual.  Now  there  are  plainly  two 
distinct  feelings  which  may  lead  the  father  to  inflict  punish- 
ment upon  the  guilty  one.  I  mean  here  by  punishment,  any 
means  whatever  of  giving  him  pain,  either  by  severe  reproof, 
or  deprivation  of  enjoyment,  or  direct  suffering.  First,  the 
father  may  be  a  passionate  man,  and  he  may  feel  personal 
resentment  against  the  boy,  and  punish  him  under  the  influ- 
ence of  those  feelings ;  a  case  exceedingly  common.  Secondly, 
without  feeling  any  resentment,  but  rather  looking  with  ten- 
der compassion  upon  his  son,  he  may  see  the  necessity  of  do- 
ing something  effectual  to  arrest  this  incipient  sin,  and  to  pre- 
vent its  extending  to  his  other  children.  If  now  the  former 
is  the  father's  feeling, — an  emotion  of  resentment  and  pas- 


PARDON.  173 


Their  operation  in  this  case.  Substitute  for  punishment. 

sion,  on  account  of  the  trouble  which  the  fault  has  caused, 
and  is  likely  to  cause  him,  there  is  no  hope  for  the  poor 
offender  ; — resentment  can  only  be  gratified  by  the  suffering 
of  the  object  of  it.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  feeling  is  only 
a  calm,  though  perhaps  anxious  regard  for  the  moral  safety 
and  happiness  of  his  family,  there  is  some  hope  ;  for  punish- 
ment in  this  case,  would  only  be  resorted  to  on  account  of  its 
promoting  this  safety  and  happiness,  by  the  moral  impression 
which  it  would  make,  and  there  may  perhaps  be  some  other 
way  of  accomplishing  this  object.  But  let  us  look  at  this 
more  particularly. 

The  reason  why  truancy  is  so  serious  an  evil,  is  not  the 
loss  of  a  day  or  two  at  school,  now  and  then, — or  any  other 
immediate  and  direct  conse<5[uence  of  it.  It  is  because  it  is  the 
beginning  of  a  long  course  of  sin  ;  it  leads  to  bad  company, 
and  to  deception,  and  to  vicious  habits  ;  it  stops  the  progress 
of  preparation  for  the  duties  of  life,  and  hardens  the  heart, 
and  opens  the  door  for  every  temptation  and  sin,  which,  if 
not  closed,  must  bring  the  poor  victim  to  ruin.  These  are 
what  constitute  its  dangers.  Now  the  difficulty  with  the 
truant  boy,  whose  case  we  are  considering,  is  that  he  does 
not  see  these  things.  He  is  spiritually  blind  ;  and  argument 
and  persuasion  will  not  open  his  eyes.  Punishment  is  there- 
fore necessary  to  make  such  an  impression  upon  his  mind  and 
that  of  the  others,  as  to  arrest  the  progress  of  tHe  sin.  It 
may  be  confinement.  It  may  be  some  disgrace  or  depriva- 
tion, or  suffering  in  any  other  form.  If  it  is  however  judi- 
ciously administered,  and  in  a  proper  spirit,  it  must  have  an 
effect,  and  it  may  remove  the  evil  altogether. 

But  there  may  be  some  other  way  of  accomplishing  the 
object, — that  is,  of  producing  the  needed  impression.  Let  us 
suppose  such  a  way.  Let  us  imagine  that  after  learning  that 
his  son  had  been  guilty  of  the  offense,  the  father  gives  no  in- 
dications of  resentment,  or  of  any  other  personal  feeling,  but 


174  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  father's  plan.  Visit  to  the  poorhouse.  The  scene. 


begins  to  think  what  he  can  do  to  arrest  the  evil,  without 
bringing  suffering  upon  his  boy.  At  last  he  says  to  the  chil- 
dren, who  have  been  standing  by,  we  will  suppose,  while  he 
was  hesitating,  awaiting  his  decision,  "  My  boys,  I  wish  very 
much  that  you  all  should  understand  what  the  real  nature 
of  truancy  is,  and  what  its  consequences  are.  I  shall,  how- 
ever, say  no  more  about  it  now,  but  to-morrow  I  shall  wish 
you  to  go  and  take  a  walk  with  me." 

The  boys  look  forward  with  eager  interest  to  the  appointed 
time,  and  when  it  arrives  the  father  takes  them  to  a  neighbor- 
ing poorhouse,  where  lies  a  man  sick,  and  suffering  excru- 
ciating pains  under  the  power  of  diseases  brought  on  by  vice. 
We  may  suppose  the  father  to  have  been  accidentally  ac- 
quainted with  the  case.  The  boys  enter  the  large  and  dreary 
apartment,  crowded  with  beds,  and  tenanted  by  misery  in 
every  form  ;  for  there  is  an  apartment  in  every  extensive 
poorhouse,  where  you  may  see  the  very  extreme  of  human 
woe, — the  last  earthly  stage  of  the  broad  road, — where  life 
lingers  in  forms  of  most  excessive  misery,  as  if  to  show  how 
much  the  mysterious  principle  can  endure.  On  one  narrow 
couch,  foaming  mania  glares  at  you, — on  another  lies  sight- 
less, senseless,  torpid  old  age,  a  picture  of  indescribable  de- 
crepitude and  deformity  ; — from  a  third,  you  hear  the  groans 
and  see  the  restless  tossing  of  acute  suffering, — and  gibbering 
idiocy  laughs  upon  a  fourth,  with  a  noise  which  grates  more 
harshly  upon  the  feelings  than  the  deepest  groans. 

Into  such  a  scene  the  father  enters,  followed  by  his  sons, 
pale  and  trembling,  for  it  is  a  scene  which  they  have 
scarcely  nerve  to  endure.  The  attendant,  knowing  whom 
they  wish  to  see,  precedes  them,  guiding  them  to  a  bed  in 
the  comer,  where  lies  the  only  patient  in  the  room  who 
has  mind  enough  left  to  be  conscious  who,  and  what,  and 
where  he  is.  He  has  covered  his  head  in  the  vain  effort  to 
hide  from  the  horrors  of  his  last  earthly  home.    The  attendant 


PARDON. 


175 


The  abandoned. 


Consequences  nf  truancy 


THE  HOSPITAL, 


raises  the  corner  of  the 
blanket  which  conceals 
him,  and  the  visitors 
see  there  a  haggard 
face,  with  its  two 
glazed  and  motionless 
eyes  rolled  up  toward 
them,  and  staring  wild- 
ly from  their  sunken 
sockets. 

The  visitor  has 
brought  the  wretched 
patient  some  little  com- 
fort or  luxury,  which 
may  amuse  and  gratify 
him  a  moment,  though 
it  can  not  really  relieve 

him.  He  then  falls  into  conversation  with  him,  and  the 
boys  who  stand  by,  learn  something  of  the  progress  and  the 
termination  of  a  life  of  vice  and  crime.  The  father  leads 
the  wretched  man  back  in  memory  to  his  early  childhood, 
and  learns  from  the  sufferer's  own  lips  that  truancy  and  the 
bad  company  which  it  led  him  into,  were  the  first  steps  of 
his  wretched  course. 

Now  there  is  nothing  unnatural  in  all  this.  Precisely  such 
an  experiment  may  never  have  been  made,  but  plans  for 
producing  moral  impressions  exactly  analogous  to  it  have 
been  successfully  adopted  a  thousand  times  ;  and  every  reader 
will  see  that  if  such  a  plan  were  adopted,  and  if  the  hearts 
of  the  boys  were  in  such  a  state  as  deeply  to  feel  it,  it  would, 
in  this  case,  have  rendered  all  farther  proceedings  unneces- 
sary. If  the  heart  of  the  guilty  boy  was  really  touched  by 
the  scene,  so  that  he  should  go  home  penitent  and  humbled, 
and  resolved  to  sin  no  more,  it  would  be  perfectly  safe  to  for- 


176  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Moral  impression  made  by  the  death  of  Christ. 


give  him.  And  the  point  to  be  kept  most  distinctly  in  view 
in  the  case, — the  point  which  it  is,  in  fact,  the  whole  design 
of  the  case  to  illustrate,  is  that  free  forgiveness,  which  would 
be  dangerous  alone,  may  be  rendered  safe  by  means  of  meas- 
ures ingeniously  and  judiciously  adopted,  which  shall  produce 
the  same  moral  impression  upon  the  community  which  pun- 
ishment would  have  made  ;  and  that  any  moral  governor 
who  is  actuated  by  a  calm  regard  for  the  general  good,  and 
not  by  personal  resentment,  will  devise  such  measures  if  he 
can.  It  is  the  great  glory  of  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  that 
it  thus  provides  a  way  for  the  safe  forgiveness  of  sin.  We 
are  taken  to  the  cross,  and  we  see  the  nature  and  effects  of 
sin  there  ;  and  the  great  sacrifice  which  was  made  on  Cal- 
vary, goes  instead  of  the  just  punishment  of  men,  to  make 
that  great  moral  impression  which  is  necessary  to  sustain  law, 
and  satisfy  justice,  and  arrest  the  consequences  of  sin. 

The  imaginary  case  which  we  have  been  describing,  is 
evidently  very  different  in  many  respects  from  the  plan  of 
salvation  by  the  sacrifice  of  the  Son  of  God.  It  would  have 
resembled  it  more  closely  if,  instead  of  one  offender,  we  had 
supposed  two,  one  of  whom  should  be  affected  and  led  to 
penitence  by  the  scene  that  he  witnessed,  while  the  other 
remained  hard-hearted  and  stubborn.  The  father  would 
then  have  felt  compelled,  while  he  forgave  the  one,  to  adopt 
some  farther  measures  in  respect  to  the  other.  The  resem- 
blance would  have  been  closer  still,  if  instead  of  there  being 
exhibited  to  the  boys  some  existing  misery,  aii  innocent 
brother  could,  in  some  mysterious  way,  himself  have  volun- 
tarily assumed  for  a  time  the  sufferings  naturally  consequent 
upon  the  sin  to  be  condemned.  These  changes,  however, 
would  not  essentially  alter  the  nature  of  the  case,  nor  touch 
the  great  principle  which  it  is  intended  to  bring  to  view, 
namely,  that  to  render  it  safe  to  forgive  sin,  some  plan  must 


PARDON.  177 


Extent  and  power  of  it  undeniable.  Its  present  influence. 

be  devised  for  producing  by  other  means  the  moral  effects  for 
which  punishment  is  intended. 

We  have,  in  former  chapters,  taken  a  view  of  two  great 
objects  for  which  the  Son  of  God  appeared  here,  namely,  to 
set  us  an  example  of  moral  action,  and  to  teach  us,  by  pre- 
cept, our  duty.  We  have  considered  the  nature  of  the  ex- 
ample, and  also  that  of  the  system  of  duty,  which  he  held  up 
to  men.  We  now  come,  however,  to  look  at  another  great 
design  which  was  accomplished  by  his  coming, — one  far 
greater,  probably,  than  either  of  those  already  alluded  to, — 
namely,  to  make  by  his  perfect  obedience  to  the  law  of  God 
during  his  life,  and  by  the  sufferings  which  he  endured  at 
the  close  of  it,  such  an  exhibition  of  the  nature  and  of  the 
effects  of  sin,  and  such  an  expiation  for  it,  as  should  render  it 
safe  for  those  who  are  penitent  to  be  forgiven.  He  came,  in 
other  words,  not  only  to  teach  us  duty,  and  to  set  an  example 
of  its  performance,  but  to  suffer  for  us,  and  to  make,  by  that 
suffering,  an  atonement  for  sin.  His  death  was  to  make  a 
moral  impression  upon  the  great  community  of  intelligent 
minds,  which  should  accomplish  the  end  which  would  have 
otherwise  been  produced  by  the  punishment  of  the  guilty, 
and  thus  open  the  way  for  pardon. 

And  it  has  made  this  impression.  It  is  now  eighteen  cen- 
turies since  that  death  occurred,  and  among  all  the  varieties 
of  opinion  which  have  been  adopted  in  regard  to  it,  by 
Atheist,  Deist,  and  Christian,  in  one  point  all  must  agree, 
that  the  death  of  Jesus  Christ  has  made  a  stronger  impres- 
sion upon  the  human  race,  than  any  other  transaction  since 
the  creation  of  the  world.  In  the  remote  and  subjugated 
province  where  it  occurred,  it  was  witnessed  only  by  a  few 
thousands,  and  they  looked  upon  it  with  little  more  interest 
than  would  have  been  excited  by  the  execution  of  any  other 
object  of  popular  fury ;  they  perhaps  supposed  too,  that  in  a 
few  months  it  would  be  forgotten.     But  no.     In  a  very  few 


178  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Its  present  influence.  Its  prospective  influence.  Necessity  of  atonement. 

weeks,  it  was  the  means  of  arresting  the  attention,  and  sub- 
duing the  hearts,  and  altering  the  characters  and  lives  of 
thousands.  The  tidings  of  the  transaction,  and  the  explana- 
tion of  it,  spread  like  a  flame.  The  walls  of  the  city  could 
not  confine  it ;  the  boundaries  of  the  province  could  not  con- 
fine it.  The  influence  of  wealth,  and  the  coercion  of  mili- 
tary power,  were  equally  insuflicient  to  stop  its  progress,  or 
to  prevent  its  effects.  It  shook  the  Roman  empire  to  its 
foundations, — and  now,  eighteen  centuries  from  the  time  of 
its  occurrence,  it  holds  ascendency  over  more  hearts  than  it 
ever  did  before,  and  it  is  an  ascendency  which  is  widening, 
deepening  and  strengthening,  and  promises  to  spread  to  every 
nation,  and  to  every  family  on  the  globe. 

This  impression,  too,  is  of  the  right  kind.  A  knowledge 
of  the  death  of  Christ,  with  the  explanation  of  it  given  in 
the  Scriptures,  touches  men's  hearts ;  it  shows  the  nature 
and  the  tendencies  of  sin ;  it  produces  fear  of  God's  displeas- 
ure, and  resolution  to  return  to  duty ;  and  thus  it  produces 
effects  by  which  justice  is  satisfied,  and  the  authority  of  law 
sustained,  far  better,  in  fact,  than  it  would  be  by  the  severest 
punishment  of  the  guilty  sinner. 

There  has  always  been  in  human  hearts,  a  feeling  of  the 
necessity  of  some  provision  to  render  safe  the  forgiveness  of 
sin.  Penitence  has  never  been  enough  to  quiet  conscience. 
Hence  the  customs  of  resorting  to  self-inflicted  sufferings,  and 
to  sacrifices  for  sin  which  have  prevailed  in  every  age.  The 
institution  of  sacrifices  was  indeed  established  by  divine 
authority,  being  mtended  apparently  to  typify  the  great  real 
sacrifice  which  was  to  be  offered  at  last.  But  though  estab- 
lished by  divine  command,  it  could  not  have  spread  so  far, 
and  have  been  so  constantly  and  universally  observed  by 
men,  if  there  had  not  been  some  strong  and  deeply-seated 
feelings  in  the  human  heart  with  which  it  accorded. 


PARDON.  179 


Sacrifices.  Reparation  required. 

Though,  as  the  Apostle  informs  us,  the  blood  of  bulls  and 
of  goats  could  not  take  away  sin,  that  is,  it  was  not  sufficient 
to  render  punishment  unnecessary,  still  the  institution  of 
sacrifices,  as  regulated  by  God's  commands  to  Moses,  was 
admirably  adapted  to  the  moral  condition  and  wants  of  men. 
One  of  the  most  brief  and  lucid  descriptions  of  it  is  contained 
in  the  following  passage. 

"  And  the  Lord  spake  unto  Moses,  saying.  If  a  soul  sin, 
and  commit  a  trespass  against  the  Lord,  and  lie  unto  his 
neighbor  in  that  which  was  delivered  him  to  keep,  or  in 
fellowship,  or  in  a  thing  taken  away  by  violence,  or  hath 
deceived  his  neighbor ;  or  have  found  that  which  was  lost, 
and  lieth  concerning  it,  and  sweareth  falsely  ;  in  any  of  all 
these  that  a  man  doeth,  sinning  therein  : 

"  Then  it  shall  be,  because  he  hath  sinned  and  is  guilty, 
that  he  shall  restore  that  which  he  took  violently  away,  or 
the  thing  which  he  hath  deceitfully  gotten  or  that  which 
was  delivered  to  him  to  keep,  or  the  lost  thing  which  he 
found,  or  all  that  about  which  he  hath  sworn  falsely  :  he 
shall  even  restore  it  in  the  principal,  and  shall  add  the  fifth 
part  more  thereto,  and  give  it  unto  him  to  whom  it  apper- 
taineth,  in  the  day  of  his  trespass  offering. 

"  And  he  shall  bring  his  trespass  offering  unto  the  Lord,  a 
ram  without  blemish  out  of  the  flock,  with  thy  estimation, 
for  a  trespass  offering  unto  the  priest :  and  the  priest  shall 
make  an  atonement  for  him  before  the  Lord ;  and  it  shall  be 
forgiven  him,  for  any  thing  of  all  that  he  hath  done  in  tres- 
passing therein."     Leviticus  vi.   1-7. 

The  first  thing  that  attracts  our  notice  in  this  provision  is, 
that  reparation, — ^full  reparation  for  all  the  injury  must  be 
made,  as  the  first  step  toward  a  reconciliation  with  God. 
Another  interesting  thought  is,  that  the  animal  required  to 


180  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Sincere  repentance.  Principles  of  moral  government. 

be  brought  for  the  sacrifice,  was  one  which  in  ordinary  cases 
would  probably  be  an  object  of  affection  to  the  offender ;  for  in 
pastoral  life  men  almost  love  their  flocks  and  herds,  and  the 
owner  of  the  innocent  victim,  one  would  suppose,  could  not 
see  its  blood  flowing  for  his  sins,  without  being  moved.  Still, 
however,  it  was  not  chiefly  on  this  account,  that  is,  on  ac- 
count of  the  direct  moral  effect  of  the  transaction  upon  him, 
that  the  sinner  was  required  to  bring  his  offering,  but  it  was 
to  remind  him  habitually,  that  something  was  necessary  to 
open  the  way  for  his  forgiveness,  besides  mere  repentance  and 
reparation  ;  and  thus  to  bring  him  to  the  right  state  of  heart 
to  be  saved  by  means  of  the  real  propitiation  which  was  at 
length  to  be  made.  The  manner  in  which  David  speaks  of 
this  subject,  shows  that  it  was  generally  understood  that  this 
duty  was  not  intended  to  be  an  empty  form.  ''  Thou  desirest 
not  sacrifice,  else  would  I  give  it ;  thou  delightest  not  in 
burnt  offering.  The  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken  spirit :  a 
broken  and  a  contrite  heart,  0  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise." 
Psalm  li.   16,  17. 

We  have  now  accomplished  the  plan  which  we  had 
marked  out  for  this  chapter,  which  was  to  exhibit  some  of 
the  principles  upon  which  the  pardon  of  sin  can  safely  be 
bestowed.  These  principles  are  in  substance  as  follows. 
The  design  of  God  in  connecting  such  severe  and  lasting 
sufferings  with  sin,  is  not  resentment  against  the  sinner,  but 
a  calm  and  benevolent  interest  in  the  general  good.  He 
wishes  no  one  to  suffer,  and  has  accordingly  formed  a  plan 
by  which  he  can  accomplish  more  perfectly,  in  another  way, 
what  would  naturally  have  been  accomplished  by  the  inflex- 
ible execution  of  the  law.  By  this  means,  the  way  is  open 
for  our  forgiveness  if  we  are  penitent  for  our  sins.  The  cir- 
cumstances of  this  sacrifice  will  be  considered  more  fully  in 
a  subsequent  chapter ;  the  design  of  this  has  been  only  to 


PARDON.  181 


Application  of  the  subject.  Address  to  the  inqmrer.  Source  of  anxiety. 

explain  some  of  the  acknowledged  principles  on  which  the 
necessity  of  it  is  grounded.  This  ohject  is  now  accomplish- 
ed ;  but  before  closing  the  chapter,  we  wish  to  devote  a  few 
pages  to  turning  this  subject  to  a  practical  account. 

There  are  a  great  many  persons  to  whose  wounded  spirits 
the  truths  advanced  here  would  be  a  balm,  if  they  would  but 
apply  them.  Many  a  thoughtful  reader  of  such  a  work  as 
this  is  often  the  prey  of  mental  anxiety  and  suffering,  which 
the  subject  of  this  chapter  is  exactly  calculated  to  relieve. 
You  feel  that  you  are  a  great  sinner,  and  though  this  feeling 
produces  no  powerful  and  overwhelming  conviction,  it  still 
destroys  your  peace,  and  fills  you  with  uneasiness,  which, 
though  it  may  be  sometimes  interrupted,  returns  again  with 
increased  power  at  every  hour  of  reflection,  and  especially 
when  you  are  in  solitude.  You  wish  that  you  were  a  Chris- 
tian, you  say.  I  will  suppose  that  you  really  do.  Many 
persons  who  say  that,  really  mean  only  that  they  wish  for 
the  benefits  of  piety,  not  for  piety  itself  They  would  like 
the  rewards  which  the  Savior  has  to  bestow,  but  they  do  not 
like  his  service.  I  will  suppose,  however,  that  you  really 
wish  to  be  his.  It  is  possible  that  you  do,  and  yet  you  may 
not  have  found  peace  ;  you  think  that  there  is  some  love  for 
the  Savior  in  your  heart,  some  interest  in  his  cause,  some 
desire  to  serve  him,  and  yet  you  do  not  feel  relieved  from  the 
burden  of  sin,  and  are  not  cheered  with  the  spiritual  peace 
and  joy  which  beam  in  the  hearts  of  others.  Now  the 
cause  of  your  restless  unhappiness  is  a  burdened  conscience ; 
— a  burdened  conscience.  There  is  a  sort  of  instinctive 
feeling,  or  if  not  instinctive,  it  is  interwoven  with  all  the 
inmost  sentiments  of  the  soul, — that  guilt  deserves  punish- 
ment. You  feel  that  you  are  guilty.  You  know  that  God 
is  an  efficient  governor, — a  God  of  terrible  majesty ;  for 
whatever  men  may  say,  there  is  something  in  the  heart, 


182  THE    CORNER-STONjE. 


Remedy.  Anxiety  needless.  Redemption  fully  purchased. 

which  testifies  that  it  is  an  evil  and  bitter  thing  to  sin 
against  God,  and  that  the  soul  which  gives  itself  up  to  sin, 
must  expect  to  feel  the  weight  of  divine  displeasure.  You 
know  this,  and  you  feel  it,  and  though  you  ask  forgiveness, 
you  do  not  realize  that  it  can  safely  be  bestowed.  Now  the 
remedy  is  simple,  and  effectual.     It  is  for  you  to  come  in 

FAITH  TO  THE  CROSS  OF  JeSUS  ChRIST. 

Let  me  explain  precisely  what  I  mean  by  this.  Your 
conscience  is  uneasy,  being  burdened  by  the  load  of  your  past 
sins.  Perhaps  you  do  not  distinctly  fear  punishment,  but  it 
is  the  sense  of  responsibility  for  sin,  and  an  undefined  dread 
of  something  that  is  yet  to  come,  which  really  destroys  your 
rest.  Now  why  have  you  any  thing  to  fear  ?  Why  should 
God  ever  call  you  to  account  for  those  sins  ?  It  must  be 
either  from  personal  resentment  against  you,  or  else  because 
the  welfare  of  his  government  requires  the  execution  of  his 
law  upon  you.  There  can  not  be  any  thing  like  the  former, 
you  know.  It  must  be  the  latter,  if  either.  Now  the  balm 
for  your  wounded  spirit  is  this,  that  the  moral  impression  in 
respect  to  the  nature  and  tendencies  of  sin,  which  is  the  only 
possible  reason  that  God  can  have  for  leaving  you  to  suffer 
its  penalties,  is  accomplished  far  better  by  the  life  and  death 
of  his  Son  ;  and  if  you  are  ready  to  abandon  sin  for  the  future, 
there  is  no  reason  whatever  remaining  why  you  should  be 
punished  for  the  past.  God  never  could  have  wished  to 
punish  you  for  the  sake  of  doing  evil,  and  all  the  good  which 
he  could  have  accomplished  by  it  is  already  effected  in  another 
and  a  better  way.  Now  believe  this  cordially.  Give  it  full 
control  in  your  heart.  Come  to  God  and  ask  for  forgiveness 
on  this  ground.  Trust  to  it  fully.  If  you  do,  you  will  feel 
that  the  account  for  the  past  is  closed  and  settled  forever. 
You  are  free  from  all  responsibility  in  regard  to  it.  Ran- 
somed by  your  Redeemer,  the  chains  of  doubt  and  fear  and 
sin  fall  off,  and  you  stand,  free,  and  safe,  and  happy,  a  new 


PARDON.  183 


Faith  necessary.        Difference  between  faith  and  belief.        The  electric  machine. 

creature,  in  Jesus  Christ, — redeemed  by  his  precious  blood, 
and  henceforth  safe  under  his  mighty  protection. 

This  change,  bringing  to  a  close  the  old  responsibilities  for 
sin,  and  commencing  as  it  were  a  new  life  in  the  Savior,  that 
is,  by  an  intimate  union  of  spirit  with  him,  is  very  clearly 
described  in  many  passages  of  scripture  like  the  following ; 
which,  however,  you  have  perhaps  often  read  without  under- 
standing it.  "I  am  crucified  with  Christ ;  nevertheless  I 
live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me,  and  the  Hfe  I  now 
live  in  the  flesh,  I  live  by  faith  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  loved 
me,  and  gave  himself  for  me,"  To  receive  these  benefits,  you 
must  have  faith.  "  I  live  by  faith  of  the  Son  of  God." 
Faith  means  confidence  ;  not  merely  cold,  intellectual  con- 
viction, but  confidence, — a  feeling  of  the  heart.  To  show 
this  distinction  clearly,  imagine  a  man  unaccustomed  to  such 
an  elevation,  to  be  taken  to  the  summit  of  some  lofty  spire, 
and  asked  to  step  out  from  an  opening  there,  upon  a  narrow 
board,  suspended  by  ropes  over  the  dizzy  height.  How  will 
he  shrink  back  instinctively  from  it.  Explain  to  him  the 
strength  of  the  ropes,  show  him  their  size,  and  convince  him 
by  the  most  irresistible  evidence  that  they  have  abundant 
strength  to  support  many  times  his  weight.  Can  you  make 
him  willing  to  trust  himself  to  them  ?  No.  But  the  builder, 
whose  confidence  in  the  suspended  scaffolding  has  been 
established  by  experience,  stands  upon  it  without  fear,  and 
looks  down  to  the  stony  pavement,  a  hundred  feet  below, 
with  an  unmoved  and  steady  eye.  Now  you  must  have 
such  faith  in  Christ's  sufferings  and  death,  as  not  merely  to 
admit  their  efficacy,  but  to  trust  yourself  to  it. 

A  father  was  once  amusing  a  number  of  children  with  an 
electric  machine,  and  after  one  or  two  of  them  had  touched 
the  knob  and  received  the  shock,  they  drew  back  from  the 
apparatus,  and  looked  upon  it  with  evident  dread.  The 
father  presently  held  out  to  them  the  jar,  uncharged,  and 


184 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  children  and  the  electric  machine. 


Christian  faith. 


consequently  harmless,  and  said  distinctly,  but  without  em- 
phasis, "  If  you  touch  it  now,  you  will  feel  nothing.  Who 
will  try  ?" 

The  children  drew  back  with  their  hands  behind  them. 
"  You  do  not  believe  me,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  they,  with  one  voice  ;  and  several  hands 
were  held  out  to  prove  their  faith ;  but  they  were  quickly 
withdrawn  before  reaching  the  dangerous  knob.  One  alone, 
a  timid  little  girl,  had  tliat  kind  of  confidence  in  her  father 
which    led  her  really  to  trust  to  him.     The  rest  believed 

his  word,  but  had  not 
heart-felt  faith  in  it. 
Even  the  little  be- 
liever's faith  was  not 
unwavering.  You  could 
see  upon  her  face,  when 
the  little  knuckle  ap- 
proached the  harmless 
brass  ball,  a  slight 
expression  of  anxiety, 
showing  that  she  had 
some  doubts  and  fears 
after  all ;  and  there 
was  an  evident  feel- 
ing of  relief  when  she 
touched  the  knob,  and 

FAITH  ' 

found,  from  actual  trial, 
that  her  father's  word  was  true,  and  that  there  was  really 
nothing  there. 

This  last  is  Christian  faith  exactly.  It  not  only  believe? 
what  the  Savior  says,  but  it  acts  in  reliance  upon  it.  It 
trusts  to  Christ,  and  throws  itself  upon  him,  and  tries  to  hush 
its  remaining  fears,  and  to  feel  fully  the  confidence  which  i^ 
knows  is  deserved.     Still  there  will  be  too  often  a  slight  mis 


PARDON.  185 


Doubts  and  feara.  The  way  to  find  peace.  Justified  by  the  law. 


giving, — a  hesitating  fear,  alternating  and  mingling  with  the 
confidence  and  love, — and  expressing  itself  in  the  prayer, 
"Lord,  I  believe,  help  thou  mine  unbelief"  There  ought 
not  to  be,  however,  the  slightest  misgiving.  It  is  sinful  and 
unreasonable,  even  when  it  exists  in  the  smallest  possible 
degree. 

Come  at  once  then  to  the  cross  of  Christ  with,  faith  in  it. 
Real  heart-felt  confidence  in  its  efficacy  in  taking  away  all 
the  necessity  for  punishment,  if  you  are  only  ready  now  to 
abandon  sin.  If  you  do  this,  you  may  be  sure  that  peace  and 
happiness  will  return. 

This  will  give  you  peace,  but  nothing  else  will.  So  deeply 
in  the  human  heart  has  God  laid  the  feeling  that  sin  must 
bring  suffering  in  its  train,  and  that  you  can  not  get  free  from 
.  the  burden  of  responsibility  for  the  past  but  in  this  M'ay. 
You  may  forget  it  for  a  time  ;  you  may  drown  it  by  the 
excitements  of  business,  or  of  pleasure  ;  but  the  poison  will 
remain,  rankling  more  and  more,  and  the  more  clearly  you 
see  your  sins,  and  the  more  deep  your  repentance,  the  more 
distinctly  will  you  feel  that  repentance  alone  can  never 
authorize  their  remission.  We  can  not  be  justified  by  any 
deeds  of  the  law ;  that  is,  we  can  not  be  pardoned, — con- 
sidered just, — ^by  any  thing  that  we  can  now  do  in  obedience 
to  the  law.  We  must  be  justified  hy  faith  ;  that  is,  if  we  are  to 
enjoy  real  peace  with  God,  it  must  be  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord  who  gave  himself  for  us,  that  we  might  be  reconciled 
to  God  through  the  propitiation  which  he  has  made  for 
our  sins. 

When  a  person  first  commences  his  career  as  a  moral 
agent,  he  then  indeed  has  the  alternative  before  him  of  obedi- 
ence or  disobedience  ;  and  if  he  chooses  the  former  and  obeys, 
he  is  then  justified  by  the  law.  The  phrase  is  almost  a 
technical  one,  but  the  meaning  is  obvious.  He  keeps  the 
law,  and  on  account  of  this  obedience  he  stands  innocent  and 


186  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Lasting  eflfects  of  sin.  Example.  The  sinning  child. 

safe.  He  is  safe  from  all  charges  of  guilt,  and  from  all  the 
consequences  of  guilt.  He  enjoys  peace  of  mind  and  a  quiet 
conscience  which  result  from  his  own  moral  excellence, — his 
strict  obedience  to  the  law.  He  is  justified  by  works,  and 
can  have  no  place  for  repentance,  and  no  need  of  a  Savior. 

If,  however,  he  has  once  committed  sin,  his  character  and 
standing  are  forever  changed.  He  is,  and  must  be,  hence- 
forward on  a  different  footing.  Common  sense  teaches  us 
this  ; — for  suppose  that  among  the  spotless  angels  around 
God's  throne  there  was  one  who,  millions  of  years  ago,  on 
one  single  occasion,  fell  into  a  passion,  or  yielded  his  heart  to 
the  dominion  of  any  other  sin.  Suppose  that  he  was  brought 
immediately  to  repentance,  and  that  he  returned  to  duty,  and 
never  afterward  transgressed,  and  that  God  forgave  him  his 
sin, — ^liow  evident  it  is  that  the  moral  attitude  in  which  he 
stands  must  still,  thenceforth,  be  different  from  that  of  all  the 
others.  How  differently  would  he  be  looked  upon  !  How 
differently  must  he  forever  feel !  The  recollection  would  fol- 
low him,  and  something  like  a  sense  of  responsibility  would 
follow  him, — a  burden  which  no  lapse  of  time,  and  no  sub- 
sequent obedience  could  remove. 

It  would  be  so,  too,  under  any  other  government.  Even 
where  the  sin  is  entirely  forgiven,  the  fact  that  it  has  once 
been  committed  places  the  sinner  on  permanently  different 
ground.  Among  a  family  of  affectionate  children,  suppose 
that  one  should,  on  a  single  occasion,  rebel  against  his  father, 
and  introduce  for  one  day  derangement  and  suffering  into  the 
usually  happy  circle.  The  father  takes  such  measures  as  to 
bring  him  back  immediately  to  repentance  and  submission, 
and  he  is  forgiven  ;  freely  and  fully  forgiven, — and  yet  how 
plain  it  is  that  the  next  morning,  when  the  family  are  about 
to  separate  from  the  breakfast  table,  to  engage  in  the  various 
duties  of  the  day,  that  this  returning  and  forgiven  sinner, 
stands  in  a  moral  attitude  entirely  different  from  the  rest. 


I 


PARDON,  187 


Change  in  his  moral  position.  Justification.  Peace  of  conscious  rectitude. 

He  feels  differently  ;  his  brothers  feel  toward  him  differently  ; 
his  father  looks  upon  him  with  new  and  altered  thoughts. 
The  evil  consequences  of  his  sin  are  perhaps  all  over, — for 
his  father  may  have  remedied  them  all.  The  guilt  of  it  is 
all  gone, — for  he  is  really  penitent,  and  he  is  renewed  and 
strengthened  in  his  feeling  of  affectionate  submission  to  his 
father.  But  something  remains.  It  is  not  resentment  against 
him  ; — his  father  and  his  brothers  love  him  even  more  than 
before.  It  is  not  suspicion  ; — they  feel  increased  confidence 
in  him,  knowing  that  the  bitter  lesson  that  he  has  learned 
will  save  him  from  wandering  again.  It  is  not  alienation 
of  any  kind, — ^their  hearts  are  bound  more  closely  to  him 
than  ever,  and  you  will  see  that  there  is  a  tone  of  greater 
kindness,  and  a  look  of  greater  affection,  from  father  and 
mother,  to  this  their  returning  son  than  if  he  had  not  sinned 
and  been  forgiven.  What  is  it,  then,  that  remains?  It  is  hard 
to  describe  it,  but  the  heart  testifies  that  there  is  something 
which  places  him  in  a  new  position,  and  gives  to  the  affec- 
tion of  which  he  is  an  object,  a  peculiar  character.  He  is 
justified  ;  that  is,  there  no  longer  rests  upon  him  the  respon- 
sibilities of  guilt, — ^but  he  is  not  justified  by  his  obedience, — 
by  the  deeds  of  the  law.  He  has  violated  law,  and  wandered 
from  duty,  and  yet  he  is  justified  and  loved  again. 

Sin,  therefore,  even  if  it  is  sincerely  repented  of  and  en- 
tirely forgiven,  places  the  soul  which  has  committed  it  in  a 
new  and  peculiar  attitude.  If  peace  returns,  it  is  not  the 
peace  of  conscious  rectitude  ;  it  is  the  peace  of  forgiveness, — 
of  reconciliation  ; — as  perfect  as  the  other,  but  of  a  different 
kind.  This  distinction  is  clear.  Every  one  who  looks  into 
his  own  heart  will  see  it.  The  two  kinds  of  justification  and 
of  peace  are  brought  to  view  continually  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, where  almost  every  form  of  contrast  and  antithesis  is 
employed  to  set  one  over  against  the  other,  in  order  to  give 
point  and  prominence  to  the  distinction.     It  is  of  immense 


188  THE    CORNER-STONE 


Peace  of  forgiveness.  Joys  of  forgi 

importance  that  the  young  Christian  should  consider  this,  so 
that  he  may  clearly  understand  which  kind  of  peace  and 
happiness  it  is  that  he  can  hope  to  attain. 

Forgiveness ;  the  proud,  unsubdued,  and  restless  spirit  of 
the  world  knows  not  what  it  means  ;  hut  he  who  has  ex- 
perienced the  enjoyment  which  springs  from  it,  feels  that  it 
is  the  richest  and  deepest  fountain  of  human  happiness.  The 
heart  renewed, — sin  throwing  down  its  weapons  and  escaping 
from  the  temple  which  it  has  made  wretched  so  long, — God 
reconciled, — the  soul  overflowing  with  the  emotions  of  grati- 
tude and  love,  to  which  the  contrast  of  past  indifference  and 
enmity  gives  a  character  of  warmth  and  vividness,  which 
they  can  never  know  who  have  never  sinned  ; — the  past, 
gloomy  and  dark  as  it  is,  all  forgiven, — the  future,  bright  and 
alluring  with  promised  enjoyments  which  are  prized  the  more 
as  the  free  unmerited  gifts  of  infinite  love, — ^these  are  some 
of  the  feelings  which  mingle  in  the  heart  which  is  reconciled 
to  God.  Others  lie  too  deep  for  description  ;  they  must  he 
experienced  to  he  known  ;  hut  they  who  know  them  will 
testify,  that  in  the  sense  of  penitence  and  pardon,  where  it 
has  full  possession  of  the  soul,  there  are  fountains  of  as  pure 
and  deep  enjoyment  as  the  heart  can  contain.  The  soul  rests 
in  it,  bathes  itself  in  it,  as  it  were,  with  contented  and  peace- 
ful delight.  Other  enjoyments  are  restless  and  unsatisfying. 
This  fills  the  soul,  and  leaves  it  nothing  to  wish  for  but  to  be 
undisturbed.  It  is  hardly  proper  for  us  to  inquire  why  sin 
was  permitted  to  enter  the  government  of  God  ;  but  this  we 
can  see,  that  it  has  opened  a  fountain  of  enjoyment  entirely 
unknown  before.  It  has  brought  happiness  which,  without 
it,  could  not  have  been  felt  upon  the  earth,  and  it  has  even 
introduced  a  new  song  into  heaven. 

But  this  is  a  digression  from  our  path.  We  were  endeav- 
oring to  show  that  sin  necessarily  places  the  soul  which  has 


PARDON.  189 

The  sting  of  sin.  Its  permanence.  A  wounded  spirit. 

fallen  a  prey  to  it,  in  an  entirely  new  moral  position.  Even 
when  it  is  forgiven,  the  moral  attitude  in  which  the  sinner 
stands  remains  permanently  changed.  This  is,  however,  not 
the  consideration  with  which  we  are  here  chiefly  concerned. 
We  wish  rather  to  show  the  change  that  it  produces  in  the 
relation  which  the  soul  sustains  to  its  Maker,  before  it  is  for- 
given. It  fixes  a  burden  upon  the  guilty  mind,  which  can 
not  be  taken  off,  though  other  objects  and  interests  may  come 
in  and,  in  time,  hide  it  in  some  measure  from  his  view.  It 
is  thus  perhaps  gradually  forgotten,  but  it  is  not  removed. 
It  remains  like  a  fragment  of  a  weapon  in  a  wound,  perhaps 
seldom  noticed  or  felt ;  but  it  is  there,  and  when  memory 
brings  it  back  to  view,  it  sends  a  pang  of  remorse  to  the  in- 
most soul.  Many  persons  carry  such  sins  upon  their  con- 
sciences all  through  life.  Some  transgression  was  committed 
in  early  youth,  which  has  been  a  thousand  times  forgotten, 
and  a  thousand  times  called  back  by  memory  to  view,  and 
every  time  it  comes  the  heart  sinks,  and  the  spirit  writhes, 
under  the  rankling  of  the  wound. 

Such  is  sin.  It  is  a  barbed  and  poisoned  arrow,  which,  if 
once  allowed  to  enter,  will  penetrate  deeper  and  deeper,  and 
will  remain,  unless  removed  by  a  moral  treatment  adapted 
to  the  moral  constitution  of  man  ;  and  the  wound  can  not 
be  healed  till  the  sin  is  taken  away.  You  may  cover  it  up  ; 
you  may  forget  it,  you  may,  like  a  man  with  a  wounded  side, 
take  care  to  keep  the  tendei:  part  from  the  slightest  touch 
which  may  disturb  its  quiet, — but  the  wound  still  is  there, 
and  it  can  not  be  healed,  till  the  sting  which  was  left  in  it 
is  taken  away. 

Now  this,  my  reader,  is  your  case.  Sin  has  reigned  in 
your  heart,  and  consequently  the  peace  and  satisfaction  of 
perfect  obedience  are  gone  forever  ;  and  such  is  the  moral 
constitution  of  the  soul,  that  there  is  no  peace  left  for  you, 
but  that   of  forgiveness  and  reconciliation.     This  can   not 


190  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  way  to  find  peace.  The  Savior.  Peace  and  pardon. 

come  through  mere  repentance, — or  confession, — or  reform. 
It  can  not  come  by  these  means,  in  any  case  of  sin  or  crime 
whatever.  A  thief  who  should  be  pardoned  by  government, 
and  become  truly  penitent,  and  firmly  re-established  in  the 
principles  of  integrity,  would  not,  and  could  not  through  these 
alone,  be  restored  to  happiness,  even  as  a  citizen.  The 
memory  of  the  past  would  be  bitterness  and  gall,  and  though 
he  might  gradually  forget  his  wound,  he  could  never  by  such 
remedies  be  made  whole  ;  if  he  had  nothing  else  to  save  him, 
he  would  carry  the  galling  and  heavy  burden  to  his  grave. 
And  you,  if  you  are  to  find  real  peace,  real  deliverance  from 
the  burdens  of  sin,  must  find  it  in  clear  views  of  a  Savior 
crucified  for  you  ;  and  in  coming  to  him  with  faith,  that  is, 
cordial,  unhesitating  confidence,  that  he  is  able  and  willing 
to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  who  come  unto  God  through  him. 
You  must  feel  that,  by  his  life,  and  sufferings,  and  death,  he 
has  accomplished  all  which  would  have  been  effected  by  the 
punishment  due  to  your  sins,  and  that  henceforth  you  may 
go  free,  safe,  and  happy  in  him ; — the  past  remitted  forever, 
and  the  path  of  holiness  and  peace  now  open  broadly  before 
you  and  inviting  you  on. 

We  must  make  a  clear  distinction,  however,  between  peace 
and  pardon.  Cases  are  constantly  occurring,  where  a  person 
who,  from  peculiar  circumstances,  has  obscure  or  clouded 
views  of  the  nature  of  forgiveness,  and  the  necessity  of  a  Sa- 
vior, is  still  really  penitent  for  sin.  If  penitent,  he  will  be 
forgiven, — ^in  fact  he  is  forgiven,  though  it  may  be,  as  it  very 
often  is,  weeks  and  months,  and  even  years,  before  he  sees  so 
clearly  the  nature  of  redemption  through  the  son  of  God,  as 
to  have  peace  and  happiness  restored  to  his  heart.  The  great 
point  is,  to  induce  sinners  to  return  to  God,  and  to  give  their 
hearts  to  him.  If  they  do  this  aright,  they  will  be  humble, 
and  watchful,  and  prayerful,  and  God  will  guide  them  to  all 
truth  ;  but  there  are  many  instances  where  the  returning  of 


PARDON.  191 


Peace  deferred.  John  Bunyan's  view. 

peace  to  the  troubled  spirit  is  long  delayed.  The  little  child 
may  begin  to  love  its  Maker  before  it  knows  any  thing  about 
the  way  of  safe  forgiveness ;  so  may  a  half-instructed  pagan  ; 
so  did  in  fact  the  Savior's  disciples  ;  they  thought  that  their 
master  was  to  have  redeemed  his  country  by  the  exercise  of 
some  political  power,  and  they  retained  this  belief  until  they 
actually  saw  him  crucified  ;  and  even  in  Christian  countries, 
a  soul  may  be  often  so  shut  away  from  the  light  and  influ- 
ences of  the  gospel,  as  to  feel  after  a  Savior  for  a  long  time, 
in  vain.  All  such  persons  may  be  fully  pardoned,  and  yet 
may  be  slow  in  finding  peace.  It  is  moral  renewal  alone, 
which  is  the  essential  thing  for  pardon.  A  knowledge  of 
the  salvation  by  Jesus  Christ,  and  clear  ideas  of  the  great 
sacrifice  for  sin,  give  peace.  St.  Paul,  the  ablest,  the  most 
powerful  and  thorough-going  preacher  of  the  cross  that  ever 
lived,  understood  this,  when,  standing  before  the  august  as- 
sembly at  Athens,  he  preached  simple  repentance,  and  a 
judgment  to  come.  If  he  could  induce  his  hearers  to  repent, 
he  knew  that  they  would  be  saved,  even  though  they  might 
not  at  once  attain  to  such  clear  ideas  of  the  propitiatory  sac- 
rifice of  Christ  as  to  make  them  feel  assured  of  salvation. 
Nay,  we  have  higher  authority  still,  for  Jehovah  himself  sent 
priests  and  prophets,  for  four  thousand  years,  simply  to  call 
upon  his  people  to  repent  of  sin  and  do  their  duty  ;  they  made 
but  a  very  few  obscure  allusions  to  a  Savior, — so  obscure  that 
they  were  not  understood  till  that  Savior  came. 

John  Bunyan  has  beautifully  exhibited  this  view,  by  mak- 
ing Christian  continue  to  bear  his  burden  long  after  he  has 
entered  the  narrow  way.  The  face  of  the  pilgrim  was  turned 
toward  Zion,  and  though  he  fell  into  many  sins,  and  encoun- 
tered many  difificulties  on  the  way,  still  his  heart  was  chang- 
ed. Finding  the  burden  of  his  past  sins  now  a  very  heavy 
load,  he  seeks  relief  from  a  friend  whom  he  meets.  But  the 
friend  replies,  "  Be  content  to  bear  thy  burden,  till  thou  com- 


192  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Christian  at  the  cross.  The  way  to  remove  the  burderu 

est  to  the  place  of  deliverance  :  for  there  it  will  fall  from 
thy  back  of  itself " 

This  burden,  now,  was  not  the  burden  of  existing  sin,  but 
of  responsibility  for  past  sin.  If  it  had  been  the  former,  the 
advice  of  the  guide  would  have  been  absurd  and  ruinous. 
No,  it  was  not  the  present  pollution  of  sin,  but  its  past  re- 
sponsibilities which  became  so  heavy  a  burden  to  the  pilgrim  ; 
and  though  his  heart  was  renewed,  and  he  was  in  the  right 
way,  it  was  some  time  before  he  came  so  near  to  the  cross 
of  Christ,  as  to  understand  and  feel  its  power  in  relieving  his 
conscience  of  its  load.  He  went  on  afterward  with  light  and 
happy  steps. 

The  great  question,  then,  with  every  religious  inquirer  is, 
whether  you  have  found  penitence,  not  whether  you  have 
found  peace.  Do  you  relinquish  sin  ?  Are  you  weary  of 
it,  and  do  you  loathe  and  abhor  it,  on  its  own  account,  as  an 
evil  and  bitter  thing,  from  which  you  can  sincerely  pray  to 
be  free  ?  There  is  a  burden  resting  upon  you,  which  still 
destroys  your  rest,  and  while  your  heart  has  really  returned 
to  God,  and  you  can  find  no  happiness  but  in  him,  you  won- 
der that  you  continue  wounded  and  miserable,  instead  of 
finding  the  relief  at  once,  which  you  hoped  that  penitence 
would  bring.  You  fear,  therefore,  that  you  are  nof  really 
penitent,  though  you  are  almost  directly  conscious  that  you 
are  so ;  and  you  sink,  overwhelmed  with  the  difficulties  of 
understanding  the  movements  and  the  condition  of  your  own 
heart.  You  feel  a  burden,  and  think  that  it  must  be  the 
burden  of  present  guilt. 

But  if  your  heart  is  really  in  the  condition  I  have  described, 
it  is  the  burden  of  responsibility  for  past  sins  which  hangs 
over  you  and  bows  you  down,  though  your  heart  is  really  re- 
newed, and  consequently  you  are  freed,  in  some  degree,  from 
the  present  power  of  sin.  The  remedy  is  the  cross  of  Christ. 
Gome  to  it,  and  see  what  Jesus  has  done  and  suffered  for 


PARDON.  193 


Come  to  the  Savior. 


you.  Look  at  the  moral  effect  of  this  great  sacrifice,  and 
feel  that  it  takes  off  all  the  necessity  of  punishment,  and  all 
the  burden  of  your  guilt.  Come  and  trust  to  this  sacrifice. 
Seek  union  with  Christ,  so  as  to  be  one  with  him,  and  open 
your  heart  to  the  full  admission  of  his  assurance,  that  you 
may,  through  this  union,  have  all  past  responsibilities  ended 
forever,  and  that  all  the  blessings  which  his  unfailing  obedi- 
ence and  spotless  perfection  have  deserved,  may  flow  in  upon 
you.  But  oh,  remember,  if  you  do  thus  come  and  give  your- 
self to  your  Savior,  going  free  from  the  bitter  fruits  of  sin, 
through  his  sufferings,  and  expecting  to  enter  your  home  in 
heaven,  under  his  protection,  and  in  his  name, — remember 
that  giving  yourself  up  to  him  must  not  be  an  empty  form. 
Christ  gave  himself  up  for  us,  not  to  have  us  go  on  in  sin, 
after  receiving  forgiveness,  but  to  redeem  us  from  all  iniquity, 
and  to  purify  unto  himself  a  peculiar  people.  If  you  hope 
for  pardon  in  this  way.  you  must  give  up  the  world  and  sin 
entirely,  and  forever.  Henceforth,  its  allurements  and  temp- 
tations must  be  nothing  to  you.  You  must  say,  in  language, 
which,  like  a  great  many  other  passages  occurring  in  every 
page  of  the  New  Testament,  is  dark  to  those  who  have  not 
experienced  its  meaning.  "  I  am  crucified  with  Christ,  never- 
theless I  live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me ;  and  the  life 
which  I  now  live  in  the  flesh,  I  live  by  the  faith  of  the  Son 
of  God,  who  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for  me." 

1 


194  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Plan  of  this  work.  Analysis  of  preceding  chaptere. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


THE     LAST     SUPPER. 


"  I  have  desired  to  eat  this  passover  with  you,  before  I  suffer." 

The  plan  which  has  been  followed  in  the  progress  of  this 
work,  may  not  have  been  very  obvious  to  the  reader.  It 
was  our  design  to  present  the  great  elementary  truths  of  the 
religion  of  the  gospel,  as  they  naturally  connect  themselves 
with  the  circumstances  of  our  Savior's  history.  We  accord- 
ingly commenced  with  his  childhood,  and  were  led  at  once 
into  a  train  of  reflection  on  the  nature  and  the  character  of 
that  eternal  and  invisible  essence,  whose  attributes  were  per- 
sonified in  him.  His  conduct  and  character  as  a  man  came 
next  before  us,  then  the  views  of  religious  duty  which  he 
came  to  urge  upon  men.  The  rejection  of  his  message  by 
mankind,  the  consequences  of  it,  and  the  way  by  which  these 
consequences  may,  in  any  case,  be  prevented,  naturally  fol- 
lowed, leading  us  a  little  way  from  the  immediate  history  of 
our  Savior.  We  now  return  to  it, — ready,  however,  to  be 
led  away  again,  whenever  necessary  to  accomplish  the  great 
design  of  this  volume. 

We  have  already  shown  that  the  great  object  which  the 
Savior  had  in  view,  in  the  influence  which  he  endeavored  to 
exert  over  men,  was  to  induce  them  to  repent  of  sin,  and  to 
return  to  duty  ;  and  not  to  make  them  theoretically  acquaint- 
ed with  theological  truth.  He  pressed  moral  obligation  upon 
them,  and  endeavored  to  arouse  and  to  enlighten  the  con- 


THE    LAST    SUPPER. 


195 


The  laat  supper. 


Jerusalem. 


science.  He  did  indeed  assure  tliem  of  forgiveness,  if  they 
would  abandon  sin,  but  he  left  them  in  a  great  measure,  to 
be  taught  by  a  future  revelation,  which  was  to  be  made  by 
his  Spirit  to  the  apostles,  in  what  way  that  promised  forgive- 
ness was  to  be  obtained.  It  was  not  until  after  his  resurrec- 
tion that  he  discoursed  freely  and  plainly,  even  with  his  dis- 
ciples, on  this  subject.  Then  indeed  he  explained  the  sub- 
ject to  them  fully.  He  showed  them  that  "he  ought,"  that 
is,  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  "  to  have  suffered  these 
things,  and  to  enter  into  his  glory ;  and  beginning  at  Moses 
and  all  the  prophets,  he  expounded  unto  them,  in  all  the 
Scriptures,  the  things  concerning  himself." 

This  full  disclosure  of  the  nature  and  objects  of  his  mission 
was  thus  not  made  until  after  his  death.  He  approached, 
however,  to  such  a  disclosure,  in  his  last  sad  interview  with 
his  disciples,  on  the  night  in  which  he  was  betrayed.  It  is 
to  the  circumstances  and  character  of  this  interview,  that  we 
have  to  call  the  attention  of  our  readers  in  this  chapter. 


Jerusalem  was  at 
this  time  crowded  with 
strangers,  so  much  so 
that,  though  the  enmi- 
ty against  the  Savior 
had  been  gathering 
strength  until  it  was 
now  ready  to  burst  all 
barriers,  the  leaders  did 
not  dare  to  proceed 
openly  against  him,  for 
fear  of  a  riot  among 
these  multitudes  which 
they  should  not  be  able 
to  control.  They  feared 
the  people,  it  is  said, — 


lERUSALEM. 


196  THE    CORWER-STONE. 


Supposed  feelings  of  the  populace.  The  last  passover. 

for  the  people  loved  to  listen  to  him,  and  therefore  would 
probably  defend  him.  They  greatly  misunderstood  the  human 
heart.  He  deserved  to  be  beloved,  and  they  supposed  that 
he  would  be  beloved  ;  but  the  very  populace  whom  they  so 
much  feared,  instead  of  feeling  any  disposition  to  protect 
their  innocent  victim,  joined  the  cry  against  him.  Far 
from  giving  the  enemies  of  Christ  any  embarrassment  or 
restraint,  the  clamor  of  the  populace  was  the  very  means  of 
urging  the  Roman  governor  to  do  what  his  own  sense  of 
justice  most  plainly  condemned. 

At  all  events  the  enemies  of  the  Savior  thought  it  wise  to 
proceed  with  caution,  and  they  were  at  this  time  warily  lay- 
ing plots  for  his  life.  "We  shall  consider  the  nature  of  the 
plan  which  they  finally  formed  in  the  next  chapter.  It  is 
sufficient  here  to  say,  that  Jesus  knew  the  whole,  and  felt 
that  his  last  hour  had  nearly  come.  He  had  been  accustom- 
ed for  some  time  to  speak  in  public  during  the  day,  and  at 
night  to  go  out  to  rest  in  the  neighboring  villages,  or  to  seek 
retirement  and  prayer  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives.  His  last 
night  had  now  come.  His  last  public  address  to  men  had 
been  delivered.  The  sun  had  set  for  the  last  time,  to  him, 
and  nothing  now  remained  but  to  give  his  beloved  disciples 
his  farewell  charge,  and  then  once  more  to  take  his  midnight 
walk,  and  offer  his  midnight  prayer. 

It  was  evening  ;  the  evening  of  a  great  festive  celebration, 
which  for  fourteen  hundred  years  had  been  uninterruptedly 
observed.  Established  to  commemorate  one  deliverance,  and 
to  typify  another  very  singularly  analogous  to  it,  it  was  in- 
tended to  continue  till  the  Lamb  of  God  should  at  length  be 
slain.  A  new  and  nobler  ordinance  was  then  to  take  its 
place  ;  an  ordinance  of  deeper  meaning,  and  higher  value, — 
and  of  interest  not  to  one  small  province  only,  but  destined 
to  extend  its  influence  to  every  nation  on  the  globe.  This 
night,  therefore,  strictly  speaking,  was  to  be  celebrated  the 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  197 


Moral  greatness  of  the  occasion.  The  meeting. 

last  passover.  The  thousands  who  crowded  the  city  did  not 
know  it ;  but  Jesus  did,  and,  as  he  made  his  preparations  for 
celebrating  it,  with  his  friends,  noiselessly  and  quietly,  in 
their  upper  chamber,  he  must  have  been  impressed  with  the 
moral  greatness  of  the  occasion.  A  friendless  man,  perse- 
cuted and  defenseless,  and  doomed  to  be  executed,  the  next 
day,  as  a  malefactor, — coming,  with  his  twelve  friends,  as 
powerless  and  unprotected  as  himself,  into  their  secluded 
room,  there  to  bring  to  a  close  the  long  series  of  splendid 
celebrations  which,  for  fourteen  centuries,  had  been  sustained 
by  God's  command.  Yes :  the  meeting  on  that  night  was 
the  connecting  link  between  the  old  dispensation  and  the 
new.  Jesus  must  have  so  considered  it.  Friendless  and 
persecuted  as  he  was, — the  whole  city  thronged  with  his 
enemies, — the  plot  for  his  destruction  matured,  and  spies  out 
for  him, — the  very  price  for  his  life  actually  paid,  and  dan- 
ger pressing  around  him  so  closely  that  he  was  obliged  to 
make  his  arrangements  very  privately,  in  order  to  be  sure  of 
an  uninterrupted  hour, — he  yet  must  have  felt  that  he 
was  bringing  the  long  series  of  Jewish  rites  and  ceremonies 
to  its  termination,  and  introducing  a  new  dispensation,  whose 
ordinances,  of  nobler  meaning,  beginning  there,  were  to 
spread  to  every  nation,  and  to  last  through  all  time.  It  is 
strange  that  the  place  chosen  for  this,  too,  should  be  the  very 
heart  and  center  of  hostility  to  his  cause. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  few  faithful  followers  of  Jesus 
came  together,  and  as  they  assembled  around  the  table,  their 
Master  felt  that  he  met  them  for  the  last  time.  They  felt 
it  too.  He  told  them  plainly  that  his  hour  had  come,  and 
they  felt  depressed  and  dejected,  looking  forward  as  they  did 
with  anxiety  and  terror  to  the  scenes  which  were  to  ensue. 
They  understood  but  very  imperfectly  what  these  scenes 
were  to  be,  but  Jesus  himself  knew  all.  They  were  in  the 
dark,  or  at  least  they  saw  but  dimly,  but  it  was  all  broad 


198  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Anxiety  and  sadness.  The  Savior's  religious  instruction. 

light  to  him.  As  he  looked  around  upon  his  little  circle  of 
adherents,  he  could  foresee  precisely  what  part  each  one 
would  take  in  the  approaching  solemnities.  There  was 
Judas,  with  the  price  of  his  Master's  blood  already  paid, — 
there  was  Peter,  who  was  to  abandon  and  deny  him, — and 
not  one,  of  all  his  warmest  friends,  but  would  forsake  him  in 
the  hour  of  danger,  and  fly.  But  he  did  not  think  of  these 
things.  It  was  the  last  time  that  he  was  to  be  with  them 
before  his  death  ;  and  while  he  was  fully  aware  that  their 
fortitude  could  not  stand  the  dreadful  trial  to  which  it  was 
soon  to  be  exposed,  he  did  not  dwell  upon  such  thoughts. 
He  looked  upon  them  with  interest  and  sympathy,  not  with 
anger, — and  endeavored  to  comfort,  not  to  reprove  them. 
He  once  became  agitated  in  speaking  of  his  betrayal,  but 
composure  soon  returned. 

But  we  must  come  to  the  discourse.  The  peculiar  circum- 
stances under  which  this  meeting  was  held,  distinguish  it 
from  every  other  occasion  on  which  the  Savior  gave  religious 
instruction.  In  fact  we  may  almost  say  it  was  the  first  and 
only  occasion  on  which  he  gave  what  may  be  strictly  called 
religious  instruction.  He  had  pressed  duty  in  a  thousand 
forms,  before ; — here  he  exhibited  truth.  He  had  on  every 
occasion, — in  the  house  and  by  the  way, — in  the  thronged 
city,  and  before  the  multitudes  assembled  in  the  fields  and 
on  the  sea-shore, — urged  men  to  repent  and  forsake  their  sins ; 
now  he  was  to  exhibit  some  great  truths  more  clearly  than 
he  had  ever  done  before,  to  a  small  and  select  company,  whose 
hearts  had  long  been  preparing  to  receive  them.  In  the 
path  along  which  he  led  the  human  mind,  repentance  came 
first,  and  theology  afterward  ;  and  it  would  be  well  if  cavil- 
ing inquirers,  at  the  present  day,  would  follow  his  example. 
They  should  begin  by  obeying  the  sermon  on  the  Mount, 
and  then  come  and  listen  to  the  conversation  at  the  last 
supper. 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  199 


He  pressed  duty  first.  Nicodemus.  Theories  of  regeneration. 

There  is  something  most  hirrhly  interesting  and  instructive 
in  the  manner  in  which  the  Savior  adapted  his  communica- 
tions to  the  occasions  on  which  they  were  to  be  made,  and  to 
the  purposes  which  he  endeavored  to  effect  by  them.  A 
modern  preacher  would  have  carried  the  metaphysics  of 
theology  all  over  the  villages  of  Galilee,  and  would  have 
puzzled  the  woman  of  Samaria,  or  the  inquiring  ruler,  with 
questions  about  the  nature  of  the  Godhead,  or  the  distinction 
between  moral  and  natural  inability.  But  Jesus  Christ 
pressed  simple  duUj.  His  explanations  all  went  to  throw 
light  upon  the  one  single  distinction,  between  right  and 
wrong.  Even  when  Nicodemus  came  to  him,  the  man 
better  qualified,  perhaps,  than  any  other  one  who  visited 
him,  for  theological  discussion,  he  simply  urged  upon  him 
the  necessity  of  the  great  change  of  heart ;  he  attempted 
no  explanation  of  the  precise  mode  by  which  the  heavenly 
influence  could  effect  it.  He  pressed  the  fact,  but  declined 
all  investigation  of  the  theory.  Indeed  he  pronounced  the 
subject  beyond  the  grasp  of  our  present  powers ;  and  yet, 
notwithstanding  this,  human  pride  and  selfconceit  have 
clambered  over  the  barrier  which  he  thus  attempted  to 
raise ;  and  confused,  and  contradictory,  and  unintelligible 
speculations,  agreeing  in  nothing  but  hostility  to  one  another, 
— ^Icilling  the  spirit  of  piety  and  destroying  the  peace  of  the 
church,  have  been  continually  appearing,  from  that  day  to 
this, — a  standing  and  perpetual  commentary  on  the  Sivior's 
words,  and  a  most  powerful  though  most  melancholy  proof 
of  the  wisdom  which  dictated  them. 

But  to  return  to  the  subject  of  our  Savior's  instructions. 
These  instructions,  when  addressed  to  the  public  at  large, 
related  to  duty, — direct,  practical,  immediate  duty, — and  he 
seemed  to  love  to  bring  duty  to  view  in  ways  so  clear,  and  in 
cases  so  plain,  that  no  proof  but  the  testimony  of  conscience 
within  every  man's  bosom,  should  be  necessary  to  establish 


\ 


200  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Topics  now  brought  forward.  Free  conversation.  Truths  adduced. 

his  positions.  "  If  any  man  will  do  his  will  he  shall  know 
of  the  doctrine,"  was  his  motto,  and  he  acted  according  to  it. 
The  time,  however,  for  instruction  had  now  come, — instruc- 
tion in  the  higher  truths  of  religion, — the  nature  of  the 
Deity,  the  relation  sustained  to  him  hy  Jesus  Christ,  the 
design  and  fruits  of  true  religion,  remission  of  past  sins 
through  the  Redeemer's  blood,  and  the  presence  and  in- 
fluences of  the  Holy  Spirit  as  the  means  of  leading  men  to 
repentance.  These  were  topics  on  which  the  Savior  had 
seldom  spoken  didactically  before,  but  now  the  last  oppor- 
tunity had  come,  and  he  opened  before  those  who  were  to  be 
the  future  ministers  of  his  religion,  new  treasures  of  religious 
knowledge.  He  had  been  the  preacher  before, — he  became 
the  religious  teacher  now, — and  under  the  guidance  of  the 
beloved  disciple,  who  has  recorded  the  conversation,  let  us 
go  in,  to  the  still,  solemn  assembly,  and  hear  what  he  has  to 
say. 

It  was  a  familiar  conference,  rather  than  a  formal  dis- 
course. The  disciples  freely  asked  questions,  and  sometimes 
the  conversation  ceased  to  be  general,  and  the  individuals 
of  the  company  talked  with  one  another  in  separate  groups, 
as  they  happened  to  be  seated  together.  The  great  truths 
of  religion  were,  however,  the  subjects  of  discussion,  and 
nothing  could  afford  higher  proof  of  the  genuineness  and 
truth  of  the  description  of  this  interview,  than  the  cautious, 
hesitating  manner  in  which  the  leading  disciples  are  repre- 
sented as  asking  their  questions ;  it  was  in  precisely  the  way, 
in  which  new  and  extraordinary  developments  of  truth  are 
always  received  by  pupils,  from  a  teacher  to  whom  they  look 
up  with  veneration  and  respect.  But  let  us  look  at  these 
truths  in  detail. 

1.  He  explained  to  them  that  he  was  the  great  manifesta- 
tion of  the  Divinity  to  men ;  and  that  consequently  it  was 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  201 


Testimony  respecting  himself.      Philip's  question.       Way  to  approach  the  Deity. 

only  through  him,  that  the  human  mind  could  find  its  access 
to  the  Divinity.     But  let  us  quote  his  words. 

I  am  the  way,  and  the  truth,  and  the  life  :  no  man  cometh 
unto  the  Father  but  by  me. 

If  ye  had  known  me,  ye  should  have  known  my  Father 
also  :  and  from  henceforth  ye  know  him,  and  have  seen 
him. 

Philip  saith  unto  him,  Lord  show  us  the  Father,  and  it 
sufficeth  us. 

Jesus  saith  unto  him.  Have  I  been  so  long  time  with  you, 
and  yet  hast  thou  not  known  me,  Philip  ?  he  that  hath  seen 
me,  hath  seen  the  Father ;  and  how  sayest  thou  then.  Show 
us  the  Father  ? 

Believest  thou  not  that  I  am  in  the  Father,  and  the 
Father  in  me  ?  the  words  that  I  speak  unto  you,  I  speak  not 
of  myself ;  but  the  Father  that  dwelleth  in  me,  he  doeth  the 
works. 

Believe  me  that  I  am  in  the  Father,  and  the  Father  in 
me :  or  else  believe  me  for  the  very  works'  sake.* 

The  human  mind  still  repeats  Philip's  very  natural  re- 
quest. "  Show  us  the  Father."  It  reaches  forward  for  some 
vision  of  the  divinity, — the  great  unseen  and  inconceivable 
essence,  which  pervades  all  space,  and  exists  through  all  time  ; 
and  it  often  decks  out  for  itself,  as  we  have  shown  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  a  gorgeous  image,  with  crown  and  scepter 
and  throne,  which  reason  tells  them  can  not  exist,  and  which 
if  it  did  exist,  would  be  a  splendid  idol,  not  God.  How 
many  Christians  bow  to  such  an  image,  which  their  imagina- 
tion has  made  ; — an  idol  more  vain,  in  fact,  than  those  of 
stocks  and  stones, — for  they  at  least  have  substance,  while 
this  is  but  a  phantom  of  the  mind.  No.  Jesus  Christ  is  the 
personification  of  the  Divinity  for  us ;  the  brightness  of  his 
*  John  xiv.  6-11. 


202  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Moral  dependence.  Ye  have  not  chosen  me. 

glory  and  the  express  image  of  his  person,  and  it  is  by  him 
alone,  that  we  are  to  find  our  way  to  the  great  power  which 
reigns  over  us  all.  Believe  this,  said  the  Savior,  on  my 
assurance,  or  else  believe  it  on  account  of  the  powers  which 
you  see  that  I  possess,  and  the  works  I  do. 

2.  He  taught  them  that  divine  influence  upon  the  hearts 
of  men  was  essential  to  their  repentance  and  salvation.  "  Ye 
have  not  chosen  me,"  said  he, — "  I  have  chosen  you."  What 
a  declaration  I  How  solitary  it  makes  the  Savior  in  the 
world  which  .he  had  come  to  redeem.  More  than  thirty 
years  he  had  spent  here,  doing  good  continually,  and  pro- 
claiming offers  of  reconciliation  and  pardon  ;  and  now  on  the 
last  night  of  his  life,  surrounded  by  inveterate  foes,  already 
actually  sold  to  them,  and  with  but  a  few  hours  of  liberty 
remaining, — he  gathers  privately  his  friends,  that  he  may 
have  one  last  sad  interview  with  them  ;  and  here  he  had  to 
reflect  that  even  these  his  twelve  friends,  among  ten  thousand 
enemies,  Jiad  not  chosen  him ; — he  had  chosen  them.  He 
stood  alone,  after  all ;  the  only  example  of  independent, 
original  holiness.  The  universal  reign  of  ungodliness  and 
sin  had  been  broken  only  where  he  had  chosen  individuals 
to  be  saved,  and  trained  them,  by  his  own  power,  to  moral 
fruitfulness  and  beauty. 

"  Ye  have  not  chosen  me,  but  I  have  chosen  you."  How 
much  it  means  !  How  many  lessons  we  may,  by  a  most 
direct  and  rigid  inference,  draw  from  it  !  How  lofty  the 
moral  courage  which  led  him  to  say  it  !  Another  man,  in 
such  a  case,  would  have  strengthened  the  attachment  of  the 
few  who  remained  true  to  him,  at  such  an  hour,  by  praising 
their  generous  fidelity  in  adhering  to  their  chosen  friend. 
But  Jesus,  as  if  loving  the  solitary  grandeur  of  the  position  in 
which  he  stood,  with  all  the  world  against  him  except  these 
twelve,  gently  withdraws  himself  even  from  these, "  Ye 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  203 


The  vine  and  the  branches.  Union  with  Christ.  The  Comforter. 

have  not  chosen  me,  hut  I  have  chosen  you, One  of  you 

will  betray  me, another  will  repeatedly  deny  that  he  is 

my  friend,  and  in  the  course  of  this  night,  when  the  hour  of 
real  danger  shall  come,  every  one  of  you  will  be  scattered, 
and  will  leave  me  alone."  Solitary  sufferer  I  how  wide  a 
distance  separated  thy  lofty  powers,  and  original  and  stable 
virtue,  from  the  weak  and  frail  and  cultivated  attachment 
of  thy  trembling  friends  ! 

The  Savior  brought  to  view,  in  many  other  forms,  the  de- 
pendence of  his  disciples,  for  all  the  moral  excellence  which 
they  could  ever  hope  to  possess,  upon  their  union  with  him. 

"  I  am  the  true  vine,  and  my  Father  is  the  husbandman." 

"  Every  branch  in  me  that  beareth  not  fruit  he  taketh 
away  ;  and  every  branch  that  beareth  fruit  he  purgeth,  that 
it  may  bear  more  fruit." 

*•  Now  ye  are  clean  through  the  word  which  I  have  spoken 
unto  you." 

"  Abide  in  me  and  I  in  you.  As  the  branch  can  not  bear 
fruit  of  itself  except  it  abide  in  the  vine,  no  more  can  ye  ex- 
cept ye  abide  in  me." 

It  was  as  if  he  had  said.  You  have  no  spiritual  life  origi- 
nating in  yourselves  and  existing  independently.  You  depend 
on  me.  It  is  by  divine  power  exercised  upon  you,  by  means 
of  your  union  with  me,  that  your  hearts  are  to  be  purified. 
Without  this  union  you  will  be  nothing. 

He  spoke  to  them  of  the  Comforter,  also,  alluding  again 
and  again  to  this  promised  influence  from  above  ;  saying 
first  that  he  would  send  him  from  the  Father,  and  again  that 
the  Father  would  send  him  in  his,  the  Savior's,  name.  This 
Comforter,  the  Holy  Spirit,  was  to  enlighten  their  minds,  and 
comfort  their  hearts,  and  above  all  was  to  bring  effectually 
to  the  hearts  and  consciences  of  men,  those  great  truths 
which  he  himself  had  preached  to  the  ear  in  vain.     The 


iiOi  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


His  work  upon  human  hearts.  The  disciple's  question. 

three  great  subjects  which  the  Spirit  was  to  press  upon  the 
attention  of  mankind  were  pointed  out.  Human  guilt,  hu- 
man duty,  and  a  judgment  to  come.  "  He  shall  reprove  the 
world  of  sin  and  of  righteousness  ;"  of  righteousness  and  of 
sin,  some  theologians  would  say,  reversing  the  order, — think- 
ing that  in  a  logical  arrangement,  right  should  come  before 
wrong.  But  no  ;  the  Savior's  view  is  far  more  true  to  na- 
ture and  to  fact.  The  Holy  Spirit  when  it  comes  to  men, 
finds  them  debased  and  depraved, — and  righteousness,  if  it 
finds  a  place  in  human  hearts  at  all,  must  be  preceded  by 
conviction  of  sin.  To  produce  this  conviction,  and  then  to 
awaken  penitence  and  love,  and  to  keep  alive  a  sense  of 
obligation  and  accountability,  is  the  work  which  this  heav- 
enly visitor  comes  to  do. 

The  necessity  of  an  interposition  from  Heaven  to  turn  men 
away  from  their  sins,  and  to  bring  them  to  repentance,  had 
been  often  alluded  to  by  our  Savior  before.  But  the  truth 
stands  out  with  uncommon  clearness  and  prominence  in  these 
his  last  instructions.  His  pupils  did  not  at  once  fully  under- 
stand it.     Nay,  who,  we  may  ask,  understands  it  now  ? 

"  He  that  loveth  me  shall  be  loved  of  my  Father,  and  I 
will  love  him  and  manifest  myself  to  him." 

"  How,"  asked  one  of  the  disciples,  "  how  is  it  that  thou 
wilt  manifest  thyself  unto  us,  and  not  unto  the  world  ?" 

**  If  a  man  love  me,"  was  the  reply,  "  he  will  keep  my 
words,  and  my  Father  will  love  him,  and  we  will  come  unto 
him  and  make  our  abode  with  him." 

It  is  no  wonder  that,  with  their  imperfect  ideas  of  the  true 
character  of  their  master,  and  of  the  relation  which  he  sus- 
tained to  the  Divinity,  they  asked  the  question,  how  he  could 
manifest  himself  to  them  and  not  to  the  world  ; — and  how 
strange  must  his  reply  have  seemed  to  them,  if  they  supposed 
it  came  from  a  man  like  themselves.     God  and  I  will  come 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  205 


Eternal  life  a  gift.  God's  claim  often  resisted. 

and  dwell  with  the  good  I  What  language, — if  a  mere  mor- 
tal man  had  uttered  it. 

It  is  most  interesting  to  observe  how,  in  this  whole  con- 
versation, the  thoughts  of  the  Savior  seem  constantly  to  dwell 
on  this  great  truth, — the  moral  dependence  of  the  human 
heart  on  God.  It  comes  up  in  various  forms,  again  and  again, 
as  if  it  were  a  truth  which  his  mind  dwelt  upon,  and  con- 
tinually recurred  to  with  pleasure.  Even  in  his  prayer,  it  is 
most  strongly  expressed,  and  almost  in  the  first  words  that  he 
uttered.  "  As  thou  hast  given  him  power  over  all  flesh'' — 
what  sort  of  power  ?  we  ask  : — the  answer  follows  \—^'  that 
he  should  give  eternal  life,  to  as  many  as  thou  hast  given 
him."  And  what  is  meant  here  by  eternal  life  ?  holiness 
itself,  or  the  reward  of  holiness  ?  "  And  this  is  eternal  life," 
the  Savior  proceeds,  "that  they  might  know  thee,  the  only 
true  God,  and  Jesus  Christ  whom  thou  hast  sent.'*  The 
knowledge  of  God,  and  of  Jesus  Christ  his  Son,  is  a  gift  from 
the  Deity  to  men  ;  and  it  is  Jesus  Christ  himself  who  be- 
stows it. 

The  heart  which  is  still  unsubdued,  is  restless  and  dissatis- 
fied, under  the  claim  which  God  thus  asserts  to  all  the  praise 
which  human  holiness  deserves.  But  the  soul  which  is  really 
penitent  and  humble  finds  its  greatest  happiness  in  feeling 
and  acknowledging  it.  Religion  is  submission  to  God  ;  and 
the  feeling  of  submission  and  the  sense  of  dependence  are 
called  for  more  imperiously  in  reference  to  our  moral  and 
spiritual  wants  than  to  any  other.  There  is  in  fact  no  moral 
or  spiritual  safety  without  these  feelings,  and  our  Savior 
knew  this  full  well.  There  is  scarcely  any  subject  which  he 
brought  more  continually  to  view.  On  this  occasion  he  ex- 
pressed the  sentiment  again  and  again,  in  various  forms ;  or 
rather  expressions  seemed  spontaneously  to  flow  from  his  lips, 
recognizing  the  truth  as  if  it  were  one  which  he  dwelt  upon 
with  continual  pleasure. 


206 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  happiness  of  yielding  to  it.  Feeling  of  dependence  safe :  happy. 

The  feeling  which  prompted  this  is  one  which  every  true 
-Christian  can  understand.  The  highest  emotion  of  enjoy- 
ment which  the  renewed  heart  can  feel  is  perhaps  this  sense 
of  entire,  unqualified,  unconditional  submission  to  God.  The 
word  submission  does  not  however  precisely  express  the  feel- 
ing. It  is  the  sense  of  being  entirely  and  altogether  in  God's 
hands  and  at  God's  disposal, — in  every  respect, — for  life, 
health,  prosperity,  character,  heart,  every  thing.  It  is  when 
this  feeling  has  most  complete  and  unbroken  ascendency  in 
the  mind  that  the  soul  attains  its  highest  position,  and  enjoys 
its  purest  happiness.  Theoretical  reasoning  on  the  subject 
might  lead  us  to  suppose  that  such  a  feeling  would  diminish 
the  sense  of  responsibility,  and  throw  the  soul  off  its  guard, 
and  leave  it  exposed  to  temptation,  by  its  trusting  thus  its 
moral  keeping  to  another.  But  no  ;  it  is  not  so  in  fact.  The 
heart  which  lies  most  submissive  in  its  Maker's  hands,  and 
trusts  most  entirely  to  his  protection,  is  the  one  which  is  most 
alive  to  the  guilt  and  dangers  of  sin,  and  most  sensitive  and 
shrinking  in  respect  to  the  slightest  contamination.  The 
higher  are  its  ideas  of  its  own  moral  helplessness,  the  firmer 
is  the  ground  on  which  it  stands.  When  it  is  weak,  then  it 
is  strong.  Christian  philosophy  has  been  sadly  perplexed  to 
explain  the  theory  of  moral  agency,  and  the  nature  of  the 
divine  control  over  human  hearts  ;  but  Christian  experience 
settles  all  questions  about  the  fact ;  and  the  penitent  and 
humbled  soul,  that  is  willing  to  leave  the  whole  field  of 
worldly  influences  and  all  the  speculations  of  human  science, 
and  go  on  alone  after  God,  will,  in  the  depths  of  its  own  ex- 
perience, be  led  to  views  of  the  extent  of  this  control  which 
can  never  be  forced  by  argument  upon  those  who  have  not 
acquired  them  by  their  own  spiritual  vision.  The  temple  of 
religious  experience  has  all  its  magnificence  and  all  its  gran- 
deur within  ;  and  they  who  have  found  their  way  into  the 
inner  apartments,  and  have  actually  gazed  upon  the  solemn 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  207 


Religious  experience.  Trust  in  God.  Physical  danger. 

splendor  that  is  there,  can  understand  and  sympathize  with 
one  another ;  while  they  who  stand  without  can  never  be 
convinced,  by  argument  or  description,  of  what  they  can  not 
see.  Jesus  Christ  did  not  attempt  to  produce  such  convic- 
tion. He  adapted  his  discourse  to  the  degree  of  progress 
which  they  who  heard  it  had  made.  He  did  not  stand  argu- 
ing without,  but  led  his  followers  in,  and  pointed  out  the 
sublimer  truths,  and  the  loftier  sentiments  of  religion,  only  as 
fast  as  they  could  see  and  feel  them. 

We  have  seen  that  the  feeling  which  seemed  so  to  fill  the 
Savior's  heart  on  this  occasion,  the  entire  spiritual  depend- 
ence of  the  human  soul  on  God,  is  a  safe  feeling ;  it  is  also 
a  most  happy  one.  A  sense  of  dependence,  and  confidence 
in  promised  protection,  are  delightful  emotions  to  hearts 
constituted  as  ours  are.  This  is  true  in  regard  to  physical 
dangers.  When  the  dark  heavy  clouds  gather  in  the 
western  sky,  at  the  close  of  a  sultry  summer's  day,  and 
flashes  of  lightning  are  seen,  and  heavy  rolling  thunder 
seems  to  convulse  the  sky,  the  Christian  father  betakes  him- 
self to  his  sheltered  home,  and  gathers  his  family  around  him, 
and  loves  to  come  and  lay  the  whole  precious  trust  into  his 
Maker's  hands.  If  his  heart  is  right,  it  will  be  a  happy 
hour  to  him.  He  has  done  all  that  he  can  do,  and  there  is 
already  over  him  whatever  protection  human  art  can  raise 
against  the  rain  and  hail,  and  the  tempestuous  wind  and 
fatal  lightning,  and  all  the  dangers  of  the  midnight  storm ; 
but  his  happiness  consists  iri  forgetting  all  such  protection, 
and  coming  to  place  himself  and  all  that  are  dear  to  him 
under  the  mighty  hand  of  God,  confiding  in  him  and  him 
alone.  He  knows  that  he  can  trust  to  nothing  beside. 
There  is  a  roof  over  him,  but  one  blast  of  the  tempest 
might  scatter  it  to  fragments.  His  walls  a  single  bolt  from 
heaven  might  rend  asunder,  and  his  whole  dwelling  in  a 
moment  burst  into  flame.     He  knows  all  this  ;  and  it  is  his 


208  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  safe  refuge.  Other  truths.  Evidences  of  piety. 

happiness  to  feel  that  though  he  has  done  all  that  he  can 
do,  he  must  trust  in  God  for  safety,  and  in  God  alone. 

It  is  exactly  so  with  his  spiritual  protection.  He  will 
do  all  that  he  can  do,  but  he  never  will  consider  his 
prayers  and  resolutions  and  watchfulness,  as  his  real  defense 
against  temptation  and  sin.  No ;  he  takes  delight  in  feel- 
ing that,  in  respect  to  moral  protection,  too,  his  trust  is  wholly 
in  God ;  and  this  feeling,  that  he  is  spiritually  in  his  Maker's 
hands,  is  not  only  his  greatest  safety, — it  is  his  highest  hap- 
piness. The  soul,  too,  comes  to  this  feeling  in  all  the  trying 
scenes,  and  solemn  occasions  of  life,  with  peculiar  pleasure. 
It  flies  to  it  as  to  a  refuge,  and  enjoys  its  refreshing  influence 
when  nothing  else  would  sustain  or  console.  Our  Savior 
seems  scarcely  ever  to  have  thought  of  it  so  much,  and  to 
have  impressed  it  so  strongly  and  so  repeatedly  upon  his 
disciples,  as  in  this  last  sad  scene. 

But  let  us  proceed  to  consider  some  of  the  other  topics  which 
Jesus  brought  before  his  disciples  on  this  occasion.  As  we 
go  on,  the  reader  will  be  struck  at  the  selection  that  he  made. 
The  great  fundamental  truths  of  religion  seemed  to  rise  before 
him  and  occupy  his  view.  His  conversation  was,  in  fact,  a  dis- 
course on  the  theology  of  the  gospel,  bringing  out  its  great  fea- 
tures, and  holding  them  up  prominently  to  view.  It  has  not 
the  formal  arrangement  of  a  scholastic  discourse,  but  the  truths 
are  all  there  expressed  ;  and  the  nature  of  the  views  thus  pre- 
sented,— truths  so  lofty  and  so  profound, — contributes,  quite  as 
much,  perhaps,  as  the  affecting  circumstances  of  the  occasion, 
to  give  to  the  whole  description  that  air  of  majestic  and  affect- 
ing solemnity,  which  is  not  equaled  by  any  other  passage, 
even  in  the  Bible.  But  let  us  proceed  to  consider  the  re- 
maining topics. 

3.  He  taught  them  that  the  true  evidences  of  piety  are  its 
fruits  ;  a  truth  of  which  it  seems  more  difficult  to  convince 
mankind  than  of  almost  any  other.     Nobody  denies  it  in 


THE   LAST    SUPPER.  209 


FruitB.  Common  errors.  Two  errors. 

words,  but  very  few  really  believe  it  in  fact.  We  are  always 
substituting  something  else  in  the  place  of  these  fruits.  It 
seems  as  if  the  Savior  felt  that  now,  as  he  was  about  to 
leave  his  disciples  to  carry  on  his  work  alone,  they  would 
be  peculiarly  exposed  to  danger  from  this  source,  and  he  ac- 
cordingly pressed  upon  them  again  and  again  attention  to  it. 
*'  By  this  shall  all  men  know  that  ye  are  my  disciples,  if  ye 
have  love  one  to  another."  "If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  com- 
mandments." "  He  that  hath  my  commandments  and  keep- 
eth  them,  he  it  is  that  loveth  me."  "  If  a  man  love  me, 
he  will  keep  my  words."  "  Herein  is  my  Father  glorified, 
that  ye  bear  much  fruit,  so  shall  ye  be  my  disciples."  Such 
expressions  were  continually  occurring  in  his  discourse  ;  and 
if  we  consider,  what  was  unquestionably  the  fact,  that  the 
record  of  John  contains  only  a  brief  summary  of  the  remarks 
which  the  Savior  made,  we  shall  be  convinced  that  he  urged 
this  subject  very  emphatically  and  fully,  upon  the  attention 
of  his  disciples. 

The  church  is,  however,  very  slow  to  learn  the  lesson. 
We  err  in  two  ways,  sometimes  by  placing  something  else 
entirely,  in  the  stead  of  fruits,  as  evidences  of  piety,  and  some- 
times on  the  other  hand,  by  mistaking  the  nature  of  the  fruits 
which  are  to  be  regarded  as  evidence.  We  do  this  continu- 
ally ;  and  probably  when  the  day  of  real  trial  shall  come,  the 
whole  church  will  be  overwhelmed  with  astonishment  to  find 
at  last  what  an  immense  amount  of  hollow  and  hypocritical 
pretensions,  ^merely,  will  be  found  under  her  banner.  In  fact, 
the  evidence  which  is  perhaps  mainly  relied  upon  here,  in 
determining  the  attitude  in  which  a  man  stands,  in  respect 
to  Christian  character,  is  almost  altogether  different  from  that 
pointed  out  by  the  Savior.  Bold  assurance  of  profession,  and 
religious  party  spirit,  rank  very  high  among  the  commonly 
received  evidences  of  piety.  If  a  man  talks  confidently  of 
his  change,  and  expresses  deep  interest  in  the  duties  of  his 


210  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Abundance  of  talk.  Party  spirit  in  religion.  Its  nature. 

new  service,  and  if  the  language  of  the  Christian  comes  flu- 
ently from  the  tongue,  we  are  slow  to  suspect  insincerity. 
In  many  such  cases  the  very  profusion  of  professions  might 
lead  us  to  withhold  our  confidence.  Empty  profession  is 
generally  loquacious,  while  sincere  and  devoted  attachment,  is 
strong  and  deep  in  the  heart,  but  its  words  are  few,  "  Out 
of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,"  the 
reader  will  say.  True,  it  speaks  out  of  the  abundance,  and 
yet  it  says  but  little.  There  is  abundance  of  feeling  but  not 
of  words. 

Party  spirit  in  religion  is  another  spurious  proof  of  piety. 
The  victim  of  it  seems  to  be  entirely  devoted  to  the  cause  of 
Christ ;  he  feels  indeed  a  strong  interest  in  that  cause,  and  he 
makes  continual  effort  and  submits  to  great  sacrifices  to  pro- 
mote it.  But  the  real  fruits  of  piety  do  not  reign  in  his  heart, 
and  if  he  were  not  spiritually  blind,  he  would  see  that  his 
zeal  is  party  spirit,  almost  entirely ; — that  is,  an  interest  in 
the  aggrandizement  of  an  organization  as  such,  of  which  he 
has  become  a  constituent  part.  Whenever  men  act  together, 
the  mind,  by  the  action  of  one  of  its  mysterious  powers,  sees 
a  new  being  in  the  union,  and  soon  forms  almost  a  personal 
attachment  to  it.  It  enlists  men's  pride  and  ambition,  and 
arouses  all  their  energies ;  and  devotion  to  this  imaginary 
existence  becomes  often  one  of  the  strongest  passions  of  the 
human  mind.  It  is  one  of  the  sins  to  which  the  human 
heart  is  most  prone,  and  in  which  it  is  most  impregnable. 
A  man  usually  thinks  it  a  virtue.  He  sees  that  he  is  not 
working  for  himself,  and  he  persuades  himself  that  it  is  the 
principles  of  his  party  which  are  the  object  of  his  attach- 
ment. But  this  is  not  the  case,  for  when  these  principles 
spread  partially  into  other  parties  he  is  always  displeased. 
He  is  never  satisfied  at  seeing  his  opponents  coming  to  the 
truth, — they  must  come  over  to  his  side. 

This  is  party  spirit,  and  the  humble  and  devoted  Christian 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  211 


Its  spirit.  True  fruits  of  piety.  The  catalogue.  Love.  Joy. 

who  really  loves  his  Master,  finds  it  constantly  insinuating 
itself  into  his  heart,  and  acting  as  the  motive  of  a  very  large 
proportion  of  his  labors  in  the  service  of  his  Master.  The 
tests  by  which  this  spirit  can  be  detected  we  have  not  time 
now  to  describe ;  but  it  burns  everywhere  in  the  Christian 
church,  it  influences  parish  against  parish,  and  society  against 
society,  and  makes  each  denomination  jealous  and  suspicious 
of  the  rest.  It  frowns  upon  the  truth  and  the  Christian  pros- 
perity which  is  not  found  within  its  own  pale.  It  is  the 
spirit  of  intolerance  and  exclusion.  "  We  found  one,"  it 
says,  "  casting  out  devils  in  thy  name,  and  we  forbade  him, 
because  he  folloiveth  not  us.'"  Banish  this  spirit  forever. 
If  men  will  cast  out  devils,  no  matter  whom  they  follow ; 
they  must  do  it,  if  they  do  it  at  all,  in  Jesus's  name,  and  no 
matter  for  the  rest.  We  must  not  frown  upon  real  piety  or 
truth,  because  they  do  not  appear  in  our  own  uniform ;  but 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  never  confound  truth  with 
error,  nor  admit  the  pretensions  of  any  specious  counterfeit 
which  may  assume  the  name  and  form  of  piety,  while  it  is 
without  its  power. 

But  what  are  the  real  fruits  of  piety  ?  the  reader  may 
ask.  The  apostle  has  given  the  catalogue.  They  are  char- 
acteristics of  the  heart,  not  of  the  external  conduct.  They 
are  these  : 

Love.  The  heart  that  is  renewed  experiences  an  entire 
change  in  respect  to  its  great  ruling  principles  of  action.  In- 
stead of  being  swayed  by  the  impulses  of  selfishness  and  pas- 
sion, its  afi^ections  go  forth  and  rest  upon  God  as  their  supreme 
object,  and  link  themselves  also  by  indissoluble  bonds  with 
every  other  being  who  is  joined  in  heart  to  him.  These  new 
emotions  have  henceforth  the  control. 

Joy.  The  prevalence  of  universal  love  will  go  very  far 
toward  producing  universal  enjoyment.  Love  is  happiness, 
and  it  brings  happiness  in  every  form ;  and  true  piety  will 


212  THE    CORNER-STONE 

Peace.  Long-suffering.  Gentleness.  (roodness. 

find  sources  of  pleasure  which  sin  never  knows.  Where 
there  is  moroseness  or  melancholy,  there  must  be  something 
wrong.  It  may  be  moral  or  physical  disease,  but  it  must  be 
one  or  the  other. 

Peace.  Peace  within  the  heart  itself,  and  peace  with 
others.  Selfishness  is  keenly  alive  to  its  own  rights,  and 
keenly  sensitive  to  injuries :  and  where  each  seeks  mainly 
his  own,  there  must  be  collision.  Piety  quiets  animosities 
and  strifes,  by  destroying  the  value  of  the  objects  of  conten- 
tion. It  points  men  to  new  sources  of  happiness ;  and  these 
new  sources  are  such  as  can  be  enjoyed  most  perfectly  when 
others  share  them.  The  heart  that  is  renewed  is  at  peace, 
too,  within  itself  Its  irritating  passions  and  corroding  cares 
are  all  allayed,  and  the  soul  is  like  a  summer's  sea,  serene 
and  placid, — the  storms  of  passion  hushed,  and  the  golden 
beams  of  the  sun  of  righteousness  reposing  tranquilly  upon  it. 

Long- Suffering.  The  true  Christian  feels  that  he  is 
himself  forgiven,  and  consequently  in  his  dealings  with  other 
wrong-doers  he  bears  long  and  is  kind.  He  looks  upon  sin 
with  a  feeling  of  compassion  for  the  offender,  and  remembers 
the  burning  from  which  he  himself  was  saved.  The  heart- 
less pretender  can,  in  public,  assume  this  language  ;  but 
when  off  his  guard  at  home,  or  in  his  counting-room,  or  field, 
his  hasty  words  and  impatient  and  angry  looks  often  betray 
the  spirit  which  reigns  in  his  heart. 

Gentleness.  The  Christian  feels  that  his  great  business 
in  life  is  to  lead  hearts  to  the  Savior :  and  hearts,  if  led  at 
all,  must  be  led  gently.  The  hollow-hearted  pretender  will 
attempt  to  drive.  Harsh,  repulsive  and  tyrannical,  he  shows 
that  he  has  not  experienced  the  grace  of  God ;  for  that  al- 
ways softens  asperities,  and  smooths  the  roughness  with 
which  selfishness  is  so  often  clothed. 

Goodness.  The  renewed  heart  feeJs  a  benevolent  interest 
in  the  welfare  of  every  sentient  being.     It  desires  universal 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  213 


Faith.  Meekness.  Temperance. 

happiness,  and  springs,  with  an  ever  ready  alacrity,  to  pro- 
duce it,  wherever  Providence  shall  present  the  opportunity. 
The  great  public  effort,  the  generous  donation,  the  open  deed 
of  charity,  may  he  the  result  of  pride,  or  ostentation,  or  party 
spirit ;  but  real  Christian  benignity  shows  itself  in  all  the 
thousand  nameless  occasions  where  a  word  or  a  look  or  a 
trifling  action  may  give  pleasure.  It  shows  itself  in  great 
efforts  too ;  but  the  highest  proof  of  its  existence  and  its 
power,  is  its  continued,  and  universal,  and  spontaneous  ac- 
tion. 

Faith.  True  piety  believes  what  God  declares,  and  trusts 
to  it  too.  It  sees  heavenly  realities,  and  feels  their  influence 
continually.  It  trusts  in  God's  care,  realizing  that  every 
mercy  is  his  gift,  and  bowing  submissively  to  affliction  and 
trial.  Hypocrisy  is  sound  in  its  theoretical  views,  but  it  re- 
pines at  losses, — or  stands  restless  and  uneasy  over  the  cradle 
of  a  sick  child, — or  proves  by  the  manner  in  which  it  pursues 
this  world,  that  it  has  no  faith  in  God's  promises  about  the 
happiness  of  another. 

Meekness,  The  sincere  Christian  is  humble  in  respect  to 
himself,  and  indulgent  and  mild  toward  others.  Having 
some  conceptions  of  the  deceitful  wickedness  of  his  own  heart, 
he  looks  upon  the  worst  of  men  as  brother  sinners.  The 
hypocrite  can  not  see  his  own  pollution  and  guilt,  and  is 
consequently  haughty,  censorious,  and  uncharitable  in  respect 
to  the  failings  of  his  fellow-men. 

Temperance.  The  worldly  enjoyments  of  the  sincere  dis- 
ciple are  in  all  respects  regulated  by  Christian  principles. 
The  regulator,  existing  in  the  heart,  acts  always,  and  with 
steady  consistency.  Hypocrisy  restrains  those  indulgences 
which  men  would  see  and  condemn,  but  she  rewards  herself 
for  her  venal  virtue  by  the  freedom  of  her  secret  sins. 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  piety,  as  enumerated  by  an  inspired 
apostle.     It  was  such  fruits  as  these  that  our  Savior  had  in 


214  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Other  occurrences  at  the  interview.  The  Lord's  supper. 


view.  He  charged  his  disciples,  again  and  again,  to  look  for 
these  as  the  only  evidences  that  human  professions  of  love  to 
him  were  really  sincere. 

We  have  thus  considered  the  three  great  truths  which 
stand  out  most  prominently  in  the  instructions  of  this  occa- 
sion. There  were,  however,  various  other  topics  discussed, 
and  various  incidents  likewise  occurred,  which  it  does  not 
comport  with  our  present  purpose  to  describe.  There  are 
many  considerations  which  it  would  he  highly  interesting  to 
present,  such  as  the  perfect  frankness  with  which  Jesus  fore- 
told the  dangers  and  sufferings  which  his  disciples  were  about 
to  incur  in  his  cause  ;  the  frequency  and  earnestness  with 
which  he  pressed  upon  them  the  promised  efficacy  of  prayer, 
sometimes  saying  that  he,  and  sometimes  that  the  Father 
would  grant  their  requests ;  and  the  manner  in  which  he 
presented  to  them  the  comforts  and  consolations  of  religion, 
as  their  refuge  and  solace  in  their  future  trials.  These  things, 
however,  we  can  not  dwell  upon  now. 

At  the  close  of  the  interview  the  Savior  established  the 
great  Christian  ordinance  which  has  been  celebrated  in  com- 
memoration of  his  death  in  every  age,  without  interruption, 
from  that  day  to  this.  The  circumstances  under  which  the  or- 
dinance was  established  teach  us  a  lesson,  as  we  have  already 
briefly  said  in  a  preceding  chapter,  in  regard  to  the  manner 
in  which  our  Savior  regarded  forms  and  ceremonies,  which 
his  followers  have  in  all  ages  been  very  prone  to  forget.  It 
is  not  that  they  overrate  the  importance  of  external  religious 
observances,  but  that  they  forget  what  it  is  upon  which  their 
importance  and  value  entirely  depend, — namely,  their  spirit- 
ual meaning,  and  the  feelings  of  heart  with  which  they  are 
performed. 

It  was  one  great  object  of  the  Savior's  preaching  to  call 
the  attention  of  men  from  outward  actions  to  inward  char- 


THE    LAST    SUPPER. 


215 


The  Savior's  view  of  ceremonies.  Forms  and  feelings.  Baptism. 

acter,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  instituted  this  last  solemn 
ceremony  is  precisely  in  keeping  with  the  whole  tenor  of  his 
public  instructions.  There  is  no  formal  ceremonious  prepa- 
ration for  it ;  there  are  no  studied  arrangements  and  no  cau- 
tions prescription  of  mode  and  form ;  but  when  the  time 
arrives  for  his  last  farewell,  he  merely  sets  apart,  in  the  most 
simple  manner,  his  last  solemn  act  of  intercourse  with  his 
disciples,  as  a  perpetual  memorial  of  his  death  ; — and  he  does 
it  too  in  such  a  way  as  most  effectually  to  fix  their  minds 
upon  its  moral  meaning, — its  spiritual  effect.  He  did  not 
devise  any  new  ceremony  for  the  purpose,  but  only  paused 
upon  a  portion  of  the  solemn  transaction  in  which  he  was 
last  engaged,  and  consecrated  that.  He  did  it  too  in  lan- 
guage so  brief  and  general  as  to  show  that  moral  impression, 
not  ceremonial  exactness,  was  what  he  had  in  view  in  look- 
ing forward  to  future  celebrations  of  the  ordinance,  by  his 
followers  in  ages  to  come.  "  Take  these,"  says  he,  as  he 
offers  them  the  bread  which  had  been  placed  upon  the  table 
for  another  purpose,  and  poured  out  another  cup  of  their 
simple  wine.  "  Take  these  as  emblems  of  my  sufferings  and 
death,  incurred  for  the  remission  of  your  sins,  and  henceforth 
do  this  in  remembrance  of  me.  As  often  as  you  do  it,  you 
do  show  forth  the  Lord's  death  until  he  come." 

The  Savior  acted  evidently  upon  the  same  principles  in 
regard  to  the  other  great  ceremony  of  the  Christian  religion. 
He  wished  for  some  mode  by  which  an  open  profession  of  at- 
tachment to  him  might  be  made  ;  and  he  just  adopts  the  one 
already  in  use,  for  such  a  purpose.  He  did  not  contrive 
baptism,  as  a  mode  of  publicly  professing  piety, — ^he  merely 
adopted  it,  formed  already,  as  it  was,  to  his  hands.  The 
people  were  accustomed  to  it.  Their  associations  were  al- 
ready formed  in  connection  with  it,  and  this  rendered  it  con* 
venient  for  immediate  adoption.  He  would  probably  have 
taken  any  other  form  had  any  other  been  more  convenient 


216 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Tho  rainbow.  Ceremonies  symbolicaL 

and  common.  The  one  chosen  is  indeed  highly  appropriate ; 
denoting  so  clearly  the  inward  purification  which  the  open 
profession  of  faith  in  Christ  and  of  adhesion  to  his  cause 
should  always  bring  with  it ;  hut  it  is  the  sincerity  with 
which  it  is  performed,  not  the  appropriateness  of  its  char- 
acter, which  gives  it  all  its  value. 

Such  is  the  origin  then  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Christian 
faith.  For  a  mode  of  admission  to  his  church,  the  Savior 
simply  takes  the  ordinary  sign  of  reUgious  profession  among 
the  people  with  whom  he  lived ;  and  in  the  selection  of  a 
ceremony  to  conmiemorate  his  sufferings  and  death,  and  to 
be,  in  all  ages  and  in  every  land,  a  perpetual  memorial  of 
the  most  momentous  transaction  which  ever  occurred,  he 
simply  pauses  a  moment  upon  the  last  act  which  he  perform- 
ed in  the  presence  of  his  friends, — an  act  most  solemnly  sig- 
nificant, it  is  true, — and  consecrates  that  to  the  great  purpose 
which  he  had  in  view.  It  reminds  us  of  a  transaction  which 
occurred  twenty-five  centuries  before,  when  Jehovah,  after 
the  flood,  wishing  to  quiet  the  fears  which  future  clouds  and 
storms  might  awaken  among  his  children,  just  takes  the  rain- 
bow, the  object  most  obvious  on  the  occasion  when  it  is 
wanted,  as  the  token  of  his  promised  protection.  In  nothing 
more  strikingly  than  in  this,  are  false  religions  distinguishable 
from  true.  The  former  are  yielding  and  flexible  as  to  prin- 
ciples, but  minute  in  the  specification  of  forms,  and  unbend- 
ing in  the  exaction  of  obedience.  The  latter  makes  moral 
principle  the  rock,  unmoved  and  immovable  though  heaven 
and  earth  should  pass  away  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  signs  and 
ceremonies  it  is  liberal  in  the  extreme.  The  ordinances  of 
the  gospel  are  indeed  appropriate  and  symbolical,  but  they 
are  no  more  so  than  a  thousand  others  would  have  been, 
which,  under  different  circumstances,  it  would  have  been 
quite  as  convenient  to  adopt.  The  ceremony  of  admission  to 
the  church  would  have  had  as  much  meaning  if  it  had  con- 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  217 


Monuments.  A  contrast.  The  pyramids  and  the  Lord's  supper. 

sisted  simply  in  holding  up  the  hands  to  heaven,  or  appearing 
in  a  white  robe,  the  emblem  of  purity,  or  in  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross  upon  the  forehead. 

And  yet  there  is  something  in  the  simple  att  which  Jesus 
Christ  consecrated  as  a  memorial  of  him,  which  renders  it 
admirably  adapted  to  its  purpose.  Other  persons  have  gen- 
erally endeavored  to  perpetuate  their  memory  by  leaving 
some  magnificent  monument  behind  them.  One  of  the  most 
striking  exhibitions  that  human  beings  make  of  the  mysteri- 
ous principles  of  their  nature,  is,  by  their  desperate  struggles 
to  keep  a  place  for  their  names  upon  the  earth,  after  they 
have  themselves  gone  beneath  the  ground.  One  founds  a 
city ;  another,  at  a  vast  expense,  erects  a  mausoleum,  and  a 
third  stamps  his  effigy  upon  a  medal  or  a  coin.  But  Jesus 
Christ  understood  human  nature  better.  He  used  no  marble, 
or  brass,  or  iron, — he  laid  no  deep  foundations,  and  reared  no 
lofty  columns.  When  he  bade  the  world  farewell,  he  simply 
asked  his  friends  occasionally  to  perform  one  simple  act  in 
remembrance  of  him. 

He  was  wiser  than  the  builders  of  the  pyramids.  A  hun- 
dred thousand  men,  if  ancient  story  be  true,  were  employed 
by  one  monarch,  for  twenty  years,  in  rearing  the  pile  which 
was  to  perpetuate  his  memory.  The  Savior  accomplished 
this  end  far  more  effectually  by  a  few  parting  words. 

Yes ;  Jesus  Christ  left  us  as  a  memorial,  not  a  magnifi- 
cent thing  to  be  looked  at,  but  a  very  simple  thing  to  be 
done  ;  and  the  influence,  in  keeping  the  remembrance  of  the 
Savior  before  the  minds  of  men,  which  the  simple  ceremony 
has  exerted,  for  eighteen  centuries,  and  which  it  still  exerts, 
shows  the  wisdom  of  the  plan.  Its  very  simplicity,  too,  is 
the  means  of  rendering  it,  to  a  considerable  extent,  a  test  of 
the  sincerity  of  professed  attachment  to  the  Savior ;  for  the 
ceremony  can  not  long  continue  in  its  simplicity,  unless  such 
attachment  sustains  it.     When  love  is  gone,  it  becomes  un- 

K 


218  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Test  of  siiKJerity.  Exact  obedience. 

meaning,  and  from  its  very  nature  there  is  nothing  but  its 
meaning  to  give  it  interest  among  men.  When  the  heart 
ceases  to  be  in  it,  then  there  is  but  one  alternative, — ^it  must 
lose  its  whole  Value,  and  ultimately  be  abandoned,  or  else 
pomp  and  parade  must  come  in,  to  supply  the  interest  which 
grateful  recollection  ought  to  give.  It  has  accordingly  in 
some  cases  been  converted  into  pomp  and  parade,  and  in 
others  gradually  lost  its  interest  and  disappeared.  But  with 
these  dangers  on  every  side,  the  institution  has  still  lived  and 
flourished,  and  its  observance  is  gradually  spreading  to  every 
nation  on  the  globe. 

We  have  already,  once  or  twice,  alluded  to  the  manner  in 
which  our  Savior  selected  and  established  the  ceremonies  of 
our  religion,  as  evidence  of  the  manner  in  which  he  regarded 
them,  namely,  as  means,,  valuable  only  on  account  of  their 
conduciveness  to  an  end  ; — and  that  end,  too,  a  moral,  not  a 
ceremonial  one.  This  consideration  is  important  to  us  now, 
because  it  affects  the  degree  of  strictness  with  which  we  ob- 
serve these  institutions  in  their  precise  form.  If  the  cere- 
monies had  been  valuable  on  their  own  account,  if  there  had 
been  any  intrinsic  efficacy  in  them,  and  if,  in  consequence  of 
this,  their  details  had  been  minutely  prescribed,  they  should 
have  been  observed  with  the  most  precise  and  scrupulous  ac- 
curacy. If,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  solely  valuable  on 
account  of  their  vrwral  expression,  so  to  speak,  then  such 
precise  and  scrupulous  accuracy  is  not  necessary.  There 
ought,  certainly,  to  be  no  deviations  without  sufficient  cause, 
in  either  case  ;  but  a  cause  which  would  abundantly  justify 
deviation  in  the  latter,  would  not  justify  it  in  the  former. 
If  for  instance  a  father,  on  leaving  home,  gives  directions  that 
a  sick  child  should  take  a  certain  medicine  at  seven  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  to  be  followed  two  hours  afterward  with 
bathing,  in  water  prepared  in  a  prescribed  way,  it  would 
be    the    duty   of    those    left   in   charge   to   be   precise    in 


THE    LAST    SUPPER, 


219 


The  father's  two  directions. 


Principles  of  compliance. 


THE    DIRECTIONS, 


compliance.  The  effi- 
cacy is  in  the  things 
to  be  done,  not  in  their 
moral  effect,  and  con- 
sequently the  things 
must  be  done  exactly. 
On  the  other  hand, 
suppose  that  he  re- 
quested his  family  to 
assemble  at  a  certain 
window,  where  they 
had  often  sat  with  him 
every  Saturday  even- 
ing, at  seven  o'clock,  to 
sing  a  hymn  which  he 
had  written  and  taught 
them.    Here  the  object 

is  of  a  different  kind  altogether.  The  directions  are  just  as  pre- 
cise, but  the  common  sense  of  every  family  would  make  a  distinc- 
tion between  the  degree  of  exact  precision  necessary  in  com- 
pliance. If,  on  some  evening,  company  should  chance  to  be 
present  and  should  protract  their  stay  beyond  the  time  as- 
signed, they  would  assemble  to  sing  their  hymn  of  remem- 
brance half  an  hour  later.  But  company  would  not  have 
led  them  to  postpone  administering  the  medicine  beyond  the 
appointed  time.  So  if  the  room  assigned  for  the  meeting 
were,  on  som.e  evening,  cold  and  uncomfortable,  they  would 
not  hesitate  to  assemble  around  the  fire  in  another  apartment 
instead  of  that ;  or  if  the  mother  were  sick  and  confined  to 
her  chamber,  on  one  of  the  Saturday  evenings  during  the 
father's  absence,  they  would  gather  around  her  bed  to  sing 
their  hymn.  They  would,  however,  by  no  means  be  led  to 
deviate  so  easily  from  the  precise  directions  in  the  other  case. 
They  would  not  perhaps  be  able  to  point  out  to  one  another 


220  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Ceremonies  of  false  and  true  religions.  Meaning  of  '  Do  this.' 


the  philosophical  grounds  of  the  distinction,  but  there  would 
be  an  immediate  and  spontaneous  perception  of  it,  and  its  in- 
fluence upon  their  practice  would  be  decisive. 

Now  the  ceremonies  of  all  false  religions  are  of  the  kind 
represented  by  the  former  of  the  above  suppositions ;  that  is, 
rather  of  the  former  than  the  latter.  Their  value  does  not 
consist  in  their  moral  expression,  but  in  their  supposed  intrin- 
sic efficacy.  The  Hindoo  bathes  in  the  Ganges,  and  the 
Mussulman  mutters  his  prayers,  with  a  view  to  the  efficacy 
of  the  ceremony  itself.  This  efficacy  is  all  imaginary,  we 
admit, — still  it  is  with  a  view  to  it  that  he  acts,  and  conse- 
quently he  must  be  precise  and  punctilious  as  to  forms.  True 
religion  makes  use  of  outward  rites  for  a  different  purpose  ; 
it  is  in  their  meaning,  and  in  the  feelings  of  the  heart  with 
which  they  are  performed  that  all  their  power  resides,  and 
we  are  consequently,  in  our  observance  of  them,  held  to  far 
less  punctilious  exactness  as  to  forms.  The  vague  and  gen- 
eral terms  in  which  these  rites  were  instituted  show,  as  we 
have  already  once  or  twice  remarked,  that  this  is  the  view 
which  our  Savior  took  of  them.  "  Do  this  in  remembrance 
of  me."  What  is  meant  by  doing  this  ?  What  is  this, 
precisely  ?  How  much  is  included  in  it  ?  Does  it  mean. 
Eat  and  drink ,  in  remembrance  of  me,  or  Eat  bread  and 
drink  wine,  or  Eat  bread  and  drink  wine,  together,  or  Eat 
bread  and  drink  wine  together  after  a  supper  ?  I  might 
go  on  thus  indefinitely,  adding  circumstance  after  circum- 
stance, and  inquire  how  many  of  all  are  meant  to  be  included 
in  the  phrase  "  Do  this."  The  general  practice  of  Chris- 
tians has  decided  to  stop  at  the  third  of  the  above  steps,  that 
is,  Doing  this,  means  Eat  bread  and  drink  wine,  together, 
in  remembrance  of  me  ;  but  they  would  probably  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  show  why  they  imitate  the  Savior's  example  in  re- 
spect to  the  nature  of  the  food,  and  to  partaking  of  it  in  an 
jmbly  of  Christians,  and  not  in  the  many  other  circum- 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  221 


Circumstances  excluded.  Principles.  Moral  effect  to  be  secured. 

stances  which  were  a  part  of  the  transaction  then,  but  are 
not  so  now.  It  was  in  the  night, — females  were  excluded, — 
there  was  a  supper  before  the  ceremony, — and  this  supper 
was  an  annual  festival.  By  common  consent  we  exclude  all 
these  circumstances,  in  interpreting  the  phrase  "Do  this." 
I  have  said  it  would  be  difficult  to  show  why  we  go  just  so 
far  as  we  do,  and  no  farther,  in  interpreting  the  language  :  I 
mean  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  grounds  for  precisely  the 
selection  which  has  by  common  consent  been  made,  in  any 
thing  which  was  actually  said  and  done  on  the  occasion. 
But  by  taking  the  views  of  the  nature  and  design  of  religious 
rites  which  are  presented  above,  the  case  is  clear.  The  moral 
meaning  and  the  moral  influence  of  the  ceremony  being  all 
that  are  essential,  we  are  regulated  by  them,  in  regard  to  the 
degree  of  precision  with  which  we  follow  the  example  set  us. 
So  far  as  is  convenient,  and  only  so  far,  we  conform  in  re- 
spect to  the  food  ;  so  as  not  unnecessarily  to  vary  from  the 
original  circumstances.  We  come  together  to  celebrate  the 
ordinance  ;  for  the  assembling  of  Christians  for  the  purpose, 
is  a  circumstance  which  contributes  to  the  moral  effect.  We 
admit  females,  for  the  same  reason.  We  do  not  insist  on  its 
being  after  a  supper,  nor  at  an  annual  festival,  nor  in  the 
night,  nor  in  an  upper  chamber,  for  all  these,  though  doubt- 
less they  were  the  circumstances  under  which  the  institution 
was  established,  have  no  share  in  the  production  of  the  effect. 
The  whole  Christian  world  most  evidently  takes  this  view  of 
the  ordinance,  in  practice ;  and  our  Savior  would  undoubt- 
edly have  been  more  precise  and  specific  in  his  directions,  if 
he  had  intended  that  we  should  take  any  other  view. 

I  have  dwelt,  perhaps,  longer  on  this  subject  than  many 
readers  will  think  necessary,  because  it  is  one,  they  will  say, 
on  which  there  is  no  dispute.  This  is  the  very  reason  why  I 
have  made  it  the  occasion  of  presenting  what,  it  seems  to  me, 
is  the  true  view  of  the  ceremonial  aspects  of  Christianity. 


222  THE    COE.NER-STONE. 


No  dispute  on  this  subject.         Principles  universally  applicable.         Formalists. 

The  principles,  which  appear  clear  and  plain  here,  because 
the  mind  can  look  at  them  uninfluenced  by  any  bias,  are  uni- 
versally applicable,  and  it  is  of  immense  consequence  that 
every  mind  which  is  shaping  its  views  of  religious  truth 
should  entertain  right  views  here.  There  are  formalists  in 
all  denominations  of  Christians,  and  perhaps  quite  as  many  in 
those  which,  in  theory,  are  most  decided  in  their  rejection  of 
forms.  As  society  advances,  and  as  new  denominations  arise, 
new  religious  customs  gradually  grow  up,  established  first  by 
a  few  leading  Christians,  and  acquiring,  in  process  of  years, 
a  very  strong  ascendency  over  the  mind.  There  is  no  harm 
in  this,  if  it  is  always  borne  in  mind,  that  these  are  all  means, 
not  ends,  and  that  moral  effect  on  the  heart  and  life  is  the 
only  object  which  is  ultimately  valuable.  There  is  a  great 
tendency  in  the  human  mind  to  forget  this,  and  to  substitute 
the  sign  for  the  thing  signified, — to  rest  upon  the  mere  form, 
— and  to  attach  that  importance  to  a  precise  compliance  with 
the  circumstances  of  its  original  institution,  which  belongs 
only  to  the  moral  power  which  it  should  exert  over  the  heart. 
By  feeling  and  acting  thus,  we  leave  the  spirit  of  Christian- 
ity, and  approach  toward  the  practices  and  feelings  of  pagan 
superstition,  where  form  is  all,  and  spirituality  nothing.  We 
go  to  different  lengths  in  this  approximation  toward  pagan- 
ism ;  and  in  some  cases  the  whole  journey  is  made,  and  the 
professing  Christian,  in  the  frigid  formality  of  his  observances, 
seems  to  come  out  almost  entirely  upon  the  pagan  ground. 
The  reader  will,  very  probably,  charge  such  a  fault,  however, 
upon  other  denominations,  not  upon  his  own  ;  but  there  is 
unfortunately  no  monopoly  of  this  sin.  Where  it  would  be 
perhaps  least  expected,  it  sometimes  most  decidedly  appears. 
Many  a  congregationalist  attends  his  private  meeting,  or  stands 
up  to  hear  an  extemporaneous  prayer  with  as  much  of  the 
spirit  of  the  formalist  as  ever  a  Catholic  felt  when  counting 
his  beads,  or  burning  candles  before  the  picture  of  the  Virgin. 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  223 

No  denomination  free.  Liberality.  Difference  of  opinion  unavoidable. 

Substituting  the  forms  for  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  is  one  of 
the  inveterate  and  universal  habits  of  the  human  soul ; — in- 
terwoven with  all  its  feelings,  and  as  difficult  to  be  eradicated 
as  any  one.  Its  action  is  less  apparent  in  those  denomina- 
tions whose  modes  of  government  and  of  worship  are  not 
precisely  arranged,  but  it  is  not  less  real ; — and  how  much 
less  common  it  is,  is  perhaps  more  doubtful  than  is  generally 
supposed. 

Understand  then.  Christian,  what  is  the  true  nature  and 
design  of  a  religious  ceremony, — whether  it  was  instituted 
by  Christ,  or  one  which  has  gradually  grown  up  as  a  relig- 
ous  custom,  in  the  denomination  with  which  you  are  con- 
nected. Consider  well  that  its  whole  value,  and  its  whole 
power,  consist  in  its  spiritual  effect  on  the  heart  and  con- 
science. See  that  you  secure  this  spiritual  effect,  and  never 
surrender  your  heart  to  the  deadening  influence  of  scrupulous 
attachment  to  mere  external  ceremony. 

There  is  one  error  on  this  subject  into  which  we  are  very 
likely  to  fall,  and  of  which  we  are  more  especially  in  danger, 
in  proportion  as  we  more  fully  adopt  the  views  above  pre- 
sented. The  danger  is  this,  that  we  shall  pertinaciously  in- 
sist that  other  Christians,  and  other  denominations  particu- 
larly, shall  come  precisely  to  our  standard  in  regard  to  this 
subject.  Now,  since  our  Savior  left  his  directions  so  general, 
there  must  inevitably  be  a  difference  of  opinion  among  Chris- 
tians, in  regard  to  the  precision  with  which  we  must  imitate 
the  circumstances  of  the  first  establishment  of  these  cere- 
monies ;  in  fact,  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  different  cir- 
cumstances and  relations  of  society  render  some  variety  de- 
sirable. Now,  each  body  of  Christians  is  bound  to  act 
according  to  its  own  ideas  of  the  Savior's  wishes,  and  the  rest 
ought  not  to  complain.  Suppose,  for  example,  a  Christian 
church  were  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  they  ought  to 
make  use  of  the  wine  of  Palestine  for  the  ordinance  of  the 


224  THE    CORNER-STONE, 

Case  supposed.  Wine  of  Palestine.  Each  church  not  judge  for  itself. 

Lord's  supper.  They  are  honest  in  this  opinion,  we  will  sup- 
pose, and  at  a  considerable  expense  send  to  Palestine  and 
procure  a  supply,  and  always  make  use  of  it  at  their  com- 
munion seasons.  We  suppose  them  to  be  mistaken, — ^yet 
still  they  are  honest,  and  really  believe  that  the  Savior  in- 
tended that  they  should  comply,  in  this  particular,  with  his 
example.  They  gather  therefore  quietly  by  themselves,  and 
celebrate  the  supper  according  to  their  own  views  of  the 
requisition  of  their  Lord.  Of  course,  it  must  be  their  opinion 
that  other  churches  are  not  fully  complying  with  the  com- 
mand, and  they  must  say  so  ;  and  though  they  may  admit  that 
the  members  of  other  churches  are  sincere  and  devoted  Chris- 
tians, they  can  not  consider  them  as  performing  aright  their 
official  duty.  Now  what,  most  plainly,  is  the  duty  of  other 
churches  in  such  a  case  ?  Why,  to  leave  these  their  brethren 
unmolested  and  in  peace  at  their  own  communion  table,  to 
comply  with  the  directions  of  their  Lord  according  to  their 
own  understanding  of  them ;  to  do  this  pleasantly  and  good- 
humoredly,  too,  without  any  taunts  and  reproaches  about 
their  uncharitableness,  and  censoriousness,  and  closeness  of 
communion. 

In  the  same  manner,  if  one  denomination  supposes  some 
circumstances  in  the  mode  of  ordaining  pastors,  or  admitting 
members  to  the  churches,  or  some  views  of  Christian  duty,  to 
be  essential,  while  they  are  not  so  regarded  by  others,  what 
ought  the  others  to  do  ?  Why,  simply  to  allow  these  breth- 
ren to  pursue  their  own  course,  unmolested  and  in  peace. 
They  are  bound  to  act  according  to  their  own  views  of  the 
wishes  of  the  Savior.  If  they  do  honestly  consider  that  cer- 
tain conditions  with  which  you  have  not  complied,  are  essen- 
tial to  a  proper  celebration  of  the  Lord's  supper,  they  can  not 
consistently,  however  much  they  may  esteem  your  piety,  ad- 
mit you  to  their  table  until  you  have  complied  with  them. 
You  ought  not  then,  in  such  a  case,  to  stand  knocking  at  the 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  226 


Modes  of  ordination.  Admission  to  the  church.  True  intolerance. 

door  and  demanding  entrance  ; — ^you  ought  to  go  quietly  and 
spread  a  table  for  yourselves.  They  do  not  prevent  it. 
They  simply  say,  our  views  and  yours  differ  as  to  what 
in  this  point  is  essential ; — we  must  be  governed  by  our 
convictions, — ^therefore  in  this  point,  and  in  this  only,  we 
must  separate. 

In  the  same  manner,  if  a  class  of  Christians  think  that  a 
certain  mode  of  ordination  is  the  only  valid  one,  or  that  cer- 
tain views  of  religious  truth  are  essential,  they  can  not  of 
course  include  those  who  differ  from  them  in  these  respects 
in  the  circle  of  official  ministerial  intercourse.  There  is  no 
bigotry  or  intolerance  in  this.  There  is  certainly  no  bigotry 
or  intolerance  in  a  man's  doing  what  he  himself  thinks  is 
right,  if  he  does  not  molest  his  neighbors,  or  prevent,  by  other 
means  than  moral  ones,  their  doing  what  they  think  right. 
Nor  is  there  any,  in  a  church's  confining  its  official  measures 
strictly  to  the  field  which  is  marked  out  by  its  views  of  of- 
ficial duty.  The  world  is  wide  enough  for  the  other  churches 
to  act  freely  according  to  their  ideas.  No  ;  the  intolerance 
and  bigotry  is  all  on  the  other  side.  It  is  not  in  the  quiet 
firmness  with  which  a  church  guards  its  doors  according  to 
its  own  conscientious  ideas  of  duty,  but  it  is  in  the  loud  vocif- 
erations of  the  crowd  which  has  assembled  without,  demand- 
ing admittance  as  a  right.  If  there  was  but  one  communion 
table,  and  but  one  pulpit  in  the  world,  the  majority  in  pos- 
session should  indeed  be  careful  whom  they  excluded  ;  and 
if  the  disciples  of  Christ  were,  or  ought  to  be,  united  into  one 
great  denomination,  they  who  should  obtain  the  control  of 
its  measures,  would  rest  under  a  most  fearful  responsibility. 
But  this  the  Savior  undoubtedly  never  intended.  He  made 
no  arrangement  for  such  an  organization,  and  did  not  com- 
mand it.  In  carrying  out  his  principles,  and  in  extending 
them  throughout  the  globe.  Christians  unite  themselves  in 
companies,  and  link  themselves  together  by  ties,  just  as  they 

K* 


220  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Practical  application.  Weak  and  sickly  Christians.  Directions. 

please  ;  and  each  band  must  be  governed  by  its  own  views 
of  truth  and  duty,  and  ought  to  be  left  without  molestation 
by  the  rest.  We  may  endeavor  to  alter,  by  argument,  the 
views  themselves,  but  we  must  not  complain  that  the  con- 
duct is  governed  by  them,  as  long  as  they  are  really  enter- 
tained ;  nor  load  with  opprobrious  epithets  those  whose  views 
of  church  policy  compel  them  to  deny  our  regular  official 
connection  with  their  organization.  Their  denial  can  do 
us  no  harm,  if  they  leave  us  to  act  unmolested  in  our  own 
communion,  and  we  ought  to  leave  them  to  act  unmolested 
in  theirs. 

The  celebration  of  the  Lord's  supper  is  particularly  de- 
scribed once  more  in  the  New  Testament,  namely,  in  the 
epistle  to  the  Corinthians.  Paul  there  tells  his  readers  that 
there  were  a  great  many  weak  and  sickly  Christians  in  their 
church,  and  attributes  their  condition  to  their  negligence  in 
respect  to  this  ordinance.  There  are  weak  and  sickly  Chris- 
tians everywhere,  and  the  communion  service,  if  it  was 
properly  understood,  would  be  the  most  effectual  means  of 
restoring  them  to  health.  In  bringing  this  chapter  to  a  con- 
clusion, then,  it  may  be  well  to  call  the  attention  of  the  reader 
a  little  to  this  point.  How  shall  we  celebrate  the  Lord's 
supper  ?  How  shall  we  secure  the  spiritual  effect  of  it,  ac- 
cording to  the  views  presented  in  the  preceding  pages  ? 

Consider  what  the  ceremony  means.  It  is  intended  to 
bring  to  our  minds  the  death  of  Christ, — to  remind  us  of  his 
blood  flowing,  and  his  body  pierced /or  ws, — "for  the  remis- 
sion of  sins,"  as  is  expressly  stated.  In  order  to  eat  the  bread 
then,  and  drink  the  cup,  worthily,  this  must  be  in  mind  ;  and 
it  is  the  moral  and  spiritual  effect  of  this  truth  upon  the 
heart,  which  is  to  be  chiefly  sought  for  when  we  come  around 
the  table  of  the  Lord. 

"It  is  the  night  of  the  preparatory  lecture,"  says  one  of 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  227 


The  sickly  Christian.  Preparatory  lecture.  Communion  day. 

the  weak,  sickly  Christians  pointed  at  by  Paul,  in  the  passage 
above  quoted.     "  Let  me  see, — shall  I  go  ?" 

The  speaker  has  been  all  day  engaged  in  the  world,  and 
his  heart  is  still  full  of  its  interests  and  cares.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  is  the  habit  of  going  to  the  preparatory  lecture. 
After  a  brief  mental  conflict  the  habit,  or,  as  it  perhaps 
should  be  called,  the  attachment  to  form,  conquers,  though 
he  fancies  that  the  victory  is  gained  by  Christian  principle. 
He  walks  to  the  meeting  at  the  appointed  time,  either  think- 
ing by  the  way  of  his  worldly  plans,  or  else  indulging  a  feeling 
of  self-complacence  at  the  thought  of  the  superior  interest 
which  he  feels  in  religious  duty,  when  he  sees  how  few  of 
his  brethren  are  to  be  there. 

He  listens  to  the  discourse,  much  as  he  would  listen  to  any 
other  sermon,  and  applies  the  general  considerations  it  pre- 
sents, with  the  same  fidelity,  to  his  own  case,  that  this  class 
of  Christians  usually  exemplify.  In  his  way  home  he  may 
make  a  remark  or  two  to  others  who  accompany  him,  about 
the  discourse,  or  the  smallness  of  the  number  who  were  pres- 
ent ;  and  then  the  world,  even  if  it  was  actually  excluded 
while  he  was  in  the  house  of  God,  which  is  more  than  doubt- 
ful, presses  in  upon  him  again.  The  approaching  solemnity 
passes  from  his  mind,  until,  on  the  next  Sabbath,  when  he  is 
walking  up  the  aisle  to  his  pew,  his  eye  falls  upon  the  plate 
arranged  for  the  ordinance,  and  he  says  to  himself,  "  Ah  ! 
the  communion  is  to  be  administered  to-day." 

During  the  administration  of  the  ordinance  he  endeavors 
to  listen  to  the  pastor's  remarks,  but  he  finds  it  somewhat 
difiicult  to  attend  to  them.  Some  few  very  vague  and  gen- 
eral religious  impressions  pass  through  his  mind,  and  when 
the  cup  is  handed  to  him,  he  looks  serious  and  takes  his 
portion  with  a  very  reverential  air  ;  and  something  like  a 
general  supplication  for  forgiveness,  and  for  greater  measures 
of  holiness,  pass  through  his  mind.     There  is  something  like 


228  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Feelings  at  the  communion  table.  Its  true  design.  Its  proper  effects. 

a  slight  feeling  of  impatience  at  the  delay  while  the  elements 
are  passing  to  the  others.  And  yet  it  is  not  impatience, 
exactly, — ^but  he  has  no  employment  for  his  thoughts,  and 
he  feels  a  little  satisfaction  when  the  ceremony  is  over.  He 
walks  home  at  last,  feeling  that  he  has  been  discharging  a 
duty,  which,  though  it  was  not  an  unpleasant  one  certainly, 
he  is  pleased  to  think  is  done. 

The  communion  service  to  such  an  one  is  a  dead  letter ; 
a  lifeless,  heartless,  useless  form  ;  and  thousands  of  Christians 
everywhere  thus  pervert  the  ordinance  which  God  designed 
to  be  perhaps  one  of  the  most  efficacious  means  of  grace  that 
the  Christian  is  permitted  to  enjoy. 

Now  in  order  to  clearly  understand  the  mode  in  which 
this  ordinance  ought  to  be  celebrated,  so  as  to  secure  its 
spiritual  blessings,  let  the  reader  call  to  mind  what  was  said 
in  the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  respecting  the  means  by 
which  the  soul  is  to  come  to  Christ  in  faith,  so  as  to  secure 
forgiveness  for  the  past,  and  spiritual  strength  for  the  future, 
through  a  union  with  Mm.  The  great  design  of  the  Lord's 
supper  is  simply  to  renew  this  union.  When  we  first  re- 
pent of  sin,  and  return  to  duty,  we  come  to  the  Savior,  and  seek 
such  a  connection  with  him  as  that  our  sins  may  be  pardoned 
through  his  sufferings  and  death,  and  that  we  may  have 
strength  furnished  us  through  him,  to  go  on  our  way  safely 
in  future.  If  this  change  were  entire  and  complete, — if  it 
overturned  forever  the  dominion  of  sin,  and  established  the 
perpetual  and  perfect  reign  of  holiness,  we  should  perhaps 
never  have  occasion  to  repeat  the  transaction,  and  our  celebra- 
tion of  the  supper  would  be  simply  an  act  of  grateful  remem- 
brance,— a  memorial  merely  of  the  Savior's  love.  But  it  is 
not  so.  Sin  continues  its  hold.  It  is  always  ready  to  rise  to 
re-assert  successfully  its  power,  and  the  communion  season 
returns  to  us  from  time  to  time,  to  give  us  an  opportunity 
of  breaking  free  again  and  again,  and  seeking  by  the  moral 


THE    LAST    SUPPER.  229 

Examination.  Confession.  Reunion.  Partaking  unworthily. 

power  of  the  sufferings  and  death  which  we  celebrate,  new 
relief  for  the  conscience,  new  pardon  for  sin,  new  spiritual 
life,  new  peace  and  higher  happiness.  Whenever  therefore 
it  returns,  it  should  bring  us  to  a  most  thorough  and  effectual 
investigation  of  our  standing  and  progress  as  disciples  of  the 
Savior.  It  is  the  time  of  periodical  settlement  between  our 
souls  and  God,  when  the  account  should  be  most  carefully- 
examined,  and  all  sins  brought  out  fully  to  view  ;  every 
secret  hold  which  the  world  has  upon  us  should  be  dis- 
covered and  broken,  and  thus  the  soul  should  be  brought 
into  a  state  to  give  itself  away  anew  and  without  reserve  to 
its  Master's  work.  The  world  and  its  cares  are  to  be  left 
behind,  all  past  sins  fully  examined  and  fully  acknowledged, 
and  the  responsibility  for  them  to  be  brought  and  laid  upon 
him  who  is  mighty  to  save.  Peace  would  then  return.  The 
collected  anxieties  and  troubles  of  conscience  would  all  dis- 
appear. Habits  of  sin  beginning  to  be  formed  would  be 
broken  up,  and  the  soul  refreshed  and  restored,  and  reunited 
to  its  Savior,  would  have  made,  at  each  successive  return 
of  the  solemn  ceremony,  a  decided  advance  in  holiness  and 
happiness. 

But  how  different  is  it  often  in  fact.  We  come  to  the 
scene  of  our  Master's  sufferings  and  death,  and  bring  the 
world  all  with  us.  One  comes  with  his  quarrels,  another 
with  his  business ;  this  brother  leads  some  daring  sin  in  by 
the  hand,  and  that  one  is  cold  and  hard  in  heart,  looking  on 
with  stupid  indifference  at  the  solemn  symbols.  Of  one 
thing,  however,  we  may  be  sure.  The  design  of  this  ordi- 
nance is  very  clear,  and  God  has  indicated  very  plainly  what 
are  the  feelings  with  which  he  wishes  us  to  observe  it ;  and 
he  has  left,  in  the  most  decisive  language,  his  warning  of  the 
danger  of  our  thus  coming  and  profaning  what  he  has  made 
sacred.  The  institution  was  designed  to  have  a  deep  mean- 
ing, and  to  produce  a  powerful  effect.     By  coming  without 


230  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Giiilt  and  consequences  of  it.  Lukewarm  Ghristiang. 

examination,  and  without  preparation  of  heart,  and  without 
a  desire  for  the  spiritual  blessings  which  it  is  designed  to  pro- 
cure, we  are  doing  all  that  we  can  to  degrade  what  God  has 
elevated, — to  destroy  its  character  and  power  and  spiritual 
influence, — and  to  bring  it  to  contempt. 

I  need  not  repeat  the  language  in  which  God  has  threat- 
ened those  who  eat  and  drink  unworthily.  It  would  be 
plain  if  such  language  had  not  been  used,  that  God  must 
consider  the  intrusion  of  worldliness  and  sin  into  the  places 
which  he  has  endeavored  to  make  sacred,  as  an  offense  of  the 
highest  character.  The  prosperity  of  his  kingdom  in  this 
world  depends  more  upon  the  purity  of  his  church,  and  the 
elevation  of  its  standard  of  piety,  than  upon  any  thing  else ; 
and  throughout  the  whole  of  the  New  Testament  no  design 
is  more  apparent,  or  more  earnestly  pursued,  than  that  of 
separating  his  friends  by  a  clear  line  of  demarkation,  from  his 
enemies,  and  keeping  his  church  pure.  The  worldly  Chris- 
tians, or  rather  the  worldly  professors  of  religion,  crowd 
around  thi9  line,  and  obliterate  all  its  distinctness.  They 
allure  many  a  sincere  follower  to  it,  who  would  otherwise 
keep  away ;  and  thus  they  are  thwarting,  most  directly  and 
most  effectually,  the  progress  of  the  Savior's  kingdom. 

But  what  shall  we  do,  perhaps  some  one  may  ask,  if  we 
find,  when  the  time  of  the  communion  service  arrives,  that 
our  hearts  are  not  in  the  right  state, — shall  we  remain  away  ? 
This  question  is  one  very  difficult  to  answer.  What  it  is 
best  for  one  to  do  who  is  a  professing  Christian,  and  yet  will 
not  give  up  the  world  and  sin,  when  the  time  arrives  for 
renewing  the  solemn  consecration  of  himself  to  his  Maker's 
service,  is  hard  to  say.  It  is  a  sad  alternative,  if  one  is  fixed 
upon  it, — either  to  disobey  Christ's  command  altogether,  or 
comply  with  it  hypocritically.  One  thing  however  is  cer- 
tain, that  if  we  have  any  adequate  ideas  of  our  obligations 
and  our  accountability, — if  we  feel  at  all  what  it  is  to  go 


THE    LAST    SUPfEK.  231 


The  sad  alternative.  The  Savior's  farewell  hymn. 

into  the  very  presence  of  the  Savior,  and  among  his  best 
friends, — a  secret  enemy ;  if,  in  a  word,  we  could  see  the 
solemn  ceremony  which  he  instituted,  as  he  sees  it,  we  should 
be  afraid  to  go  and  be  the  Judas  there. 

"  And  when  they  had  smig  an  hymn  they  went  out  into 
the  Mount  of  Olives."  The  Savior  and  his  disciples  stood 
around  their  table  and  sang  an  hymn.  It  was  the  Redeem- 
er's last  public  act, — his  final  farewell.  He  had  presided 
over  many  an  assembly,  guiding  their  devotions  or  explaining 
to  them  the  principles  of  religion.  Sometimes  the  thronging 
multitudes  had  gathered  around  him  on  the  sea-shore  ;  some- 
times they  had  crowded  into  a  private  dwelling,  and  some- 
times he  sat  in  the  synagogue,  and  explained  the  law  to  the 
congregation  assembled  there.  But  the  last  moment  had 
now  come ;  he  was  presiding  in  the  last  assembly,  which,  by 
his  mortal  powers,  he  should  ever  address ;  and  when  the 
hour  for  separation  came,  the  last  tones  in  which  his  voice 
uttered  itself,  were  heard  in  song. 

What  could  have  been  their  hymn  ?  Its  sentiments  and 
feelings,  they  who  can  appreciate  the  occasion  may  perhaps 
conceive,  but  what  were  its  words  ?  Beloved  disciple,  why 
didst  thou  not  record  them  ?  They  should  have  been  sung 
in  every  nation,  and  language  and  clime.  We  would  have 
fixed  them  in  our  hearts,  and  taught  them  to  our  children, 
and  whenever  we  came  together  to  commemorate  our  Re- 
deemer's sufierings,  we  would  never  have  separated  without 
singing  his  parting  hymn. 


232  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Dramatic  interest  of  the  narrative  of  the  crucifixion. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE     CRUCIFIERS. 
"The  Lord  looketh  on  the  heart." 

An  instance  of  as  high  dramatic  beauty  and  interest  as  the 
Bible  furnishes,  is  to  be  found  in  the  arrangement  of  the  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  the  great  final  scene  which  it 
portrays.  Fiction  could  not  have  arranged  these  circum- 
stances with  more  admirable  adaptation  to  the  production  of 
effect,  and  yet  nature  and  truth  had  never  more  complete, 
or  more  evident  control.  Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  fea- 
ture of  the  picture,  is  the  number  of  distinct  and  strongly 
marked  characters  which  appear  as  actors.  Here  is  religion 
in  all  the  variety  of  its  forms.  Hostility  to  God  sends  its 
representatives  in  all  the  leading  shapes  which  it  ever  as- 
sumes, to  exhibit  themselves  conspicuously  here,  in  the  view 
of  all  the  world. 

This  was  intended  for  our  instruction.  Characters  por- 
trayed in  the  New  Testament  are  portrayed  for  the  purpose 
of  throwing  light  upon  duty,  or  upon  the  nature  and  tenden- 
cies of  sin  ;  but  we  shield  ourselves  from  the  proper  influence 
of  this  example  of  wickedness,  on  account  of  the  enormity  of 
the  consequences  which  resulted  from  it.  No  man  thinks 
of  comparing  himself  with  Pontius  Pilate ;  and  Christians, 
though  they  often  quote  the  example  of  Peter,  seldom  think 
that  they  have  been  guilty  of  his  sin.  Thus  the  enormity  of 
the  crime,  to  which  sin  in  this  case  led,  has  invested  the 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  233 


Its  moral  effect  often  lost.  Three  stages  of  guilt. 


whole  transaction  with  such  a  character,  as  in  the  view  of 
men  to  place  it  entirely  heyond  the  region  of  reproof  and 
warning  to  them.  One  great  design,  however,  unquestiona- 
bly, which  Jehovah  had  in  view,  in  allowing  this  scene  to  be 
enacted,  was  that  the  whole  human  family  might  see  what  dis- 
astrous effects  would  be  produced,  in  peculiar  circumstances, 
by  very  common  sins.  We  evade  the  intended  effect  alto- 
gether, by  setting  the  whole  transaction  aside  ; — disconnect- 
ing it  from  all  ordinary  exhibitions  of  human  nature,  on  ac- 
count of  the  extraordinariness  of  the  effects  which  resulted, 
when  we  ought  to  unite  it  with  them,  on  account  of  the 
commonness  of  the  cause  which  produced  them ;  and  thus, 
though  there  are  unquestionably  thousands  even  in  the  Chris- 
tian church,  and  in  fair  standing,  who  are  habitually  govern- 
ed by  the  principles  of  Judas  Iscariot,  there  is  not  one  in  the 
Christian  world,  so  degraded  and  so  abandoned,  that  he 
would  not  resent  being  called  by  his  name. 

This  is  owing  to  wrong  ideas  of  the  nature  of  guilt,  as  it  is 
recognized  by  God's  law ;  and  we  shall  here  devote  a  few 
paragraphs  to  this  subject,  both  because  it  is  of  general  im- 
portance to  the  young  Christian  to  have  clear  ideas  respecting 
it,  and  because  a  right  understanding  of  it  is  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  enable  us  to  receive  the  proper  moral  lessons  taught 
us  by  the  narrative  of  the  crucifixion  of  the  Savior. 

Guilt,  then,  as  it  generally  exhibits  itself  in  this  world, 
exists  in  three  stages,  proceeding  regularly  from  the  first  to 
its  consummation  in  the  last.  These  stages  are  more  or  less 
distinctly  marked  in  all  the  various  cases  which  occur.  "We 
may  however  take  as  a  convenient  instance  for  illustration, 
the  sin  of  Joseph's  brethren  in  selling  him  as  a  slave.  Let 
us  look  a  few  moments  at  this  case. 

The  first  stage  of  their  guilt  consists  in  the  indulgence  of 
envious  and  malignant  feelings.  It  is  said  "  they  hated 
him,  and  could  not  speak  peaceably  unto  him,"  and  when  he 


234  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


First  stage;  gmlty  feeling.  Second  stage ;  guilty  intentions. 

innocently  told  them  his  dream,  they  said,  "  '  shalt  thou  in- 
deed reign  over  us  ?'  and  they  hated  him  yet  the  more  for  his 
words."  Here  now  is  guilt,  but  it  is  the  guilt  oi  feeling,  not 
of  conduct.  Here  are  no  overt  acts  of  violence  or  of  unkind- 
ness, — not  even  any  plans  or  determinations  to  commit  such 
acts.  It  is  the  heart  alone  which  has  gone  astray.  They 
are  filled  with  feelings  of  envy  and  hatred  toward  their 
brother ;  and  though,  as  is  very  often  the  case  at  the  present 
day  when  a  heart  is  filled  with  hateful  passions,  the  brow 
might  have  been  smooth,  and  the  conduct  right,  and  even 
though  the  tone  of  voice  had  been  gentle  and  kind,  and  not 
a  glance  of  the  eye  had  betrayed  the  hidden  anger, — still,  on 
the  principles  of  God's  law,  they  had  committed  great  sin. 
It  was  not  the  sin  of  action,  nor  of  intention ;  but  of  the 
heart. 

The  second  stage  of  their  guilt  consists  in  their  'plans  and 
determinations.  They  began  to  form  the  design  to  do  some 
violence  to  their  brother.  This  stage,  which  it  will  be 
readily  perceived  is  distinct  from  the  other,  and  decidedly  in 
advance  of  it,  is  described  in  the  following  words. 

"  When  they  saw  him  coming  they  conspired  against 
him  to  slay  him.  They  said  one  to  another.  Behold  this 
dreamer  cometh.  Come  now,  therefore,  and  let  us  slay  him, 
and  cast  him  into  some  pit,  and  we  will  say  some  evil  beast 
hath  devoured  him,  and  we  shall  see  what  will  become  of 
his  dreams !" 

This  is  plainly,  as  we  have  said,  a  distinct  stage  from  the 
other,  and  in  advance  of  it.  A  man  may  cherish  revengeful 
and  malignant  thoughts,  and  yet  never  intend  to  carry  them 
forward  into  action.  There  are  a  thousand  considerations  of 
policy  which  tend  to  restrain  him.  There  is  the  voice  of 
public  opinion,  the  fear  of  punishment,  the  dread  of  remorse  ; 
and  while  he  hates  his  brother,  and  cordially  wishes  him  in- 
jury, his  hand  may  be  held  back  by  the  thousand  circum- 


THE    CRUCIFIERS  235 


Third  stage;  guilty  action. 


stances  of  restraint,  with  which  a  kind  Providence  has  hem- 
med him  in.  By  and  by,  however,  the  rising,  swelling  flood 
of  wicked  emotion  breaks  its  barriers.  He  prepares  himself 
for  the  execution  of  deeds  of  iniquity.  His  mind  passes  from 
the  mere  indulgence  of  the  wicked  feeling  itself,  to  the  alto- 
gether different  state,  of  deliberately  intending  to  commit 
some  open  acts  of  sin.  He  has  thus  advanced  one  distinct 
step  toward  the  consummation  of  guilt. 

Again,  the  third  and  last  stage  of  this  disease  is  the  open 
act.  This  consummates  the  guilt,  and  seals  the  consequences. 
In  this  case,  the  guilty  conspirators  took  their  brother,  and 
let  him  down  into  a  deep  pit  in  the  wilderness,  intending  to 


leave  him  in  its  dismal  solitude  to  die  of  hunger  and  despair. 
Avarice,  however,  pleaded  for  his  life,  and,  as  by  selling  him, 
they  could  get  twenty  pieces  of  silver,  they  changed  his  des 


236  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Illustrations.  Sudden  acts.  God's  view  of  guilt. 

tiny  from  death  to  slavery.  They  sold  him  to  a  wandering 
tribe  of  half-savage  strangers,  and  quietly  saw  him  led  away, 
they  scarcely  knew  where,  or  for  what ;  though  they  could 
have  expected  nothing  for  the  brother  whom  they  had  thus 
betrayed,  but  a  life  of  suffering,  and  toil,  and  chains. 

Such  are  the  three  distinct  stages  of  progress  in  guilt. 
And  let  it  be  understood  that  the  distinction  between  these 
stages  is  not  by  any  means  peculiar  to  this  case,  nor  even 
more  striking  here,  than  it  usually  is  in  fact.  They  all  hap- 
pen to  be  distinctly  noticed  and  described  by  the  sacred 
writer,  and  it  is  this  only  which  makes  the  example  peculiarly 
suited  to  our  purpose.  But  in  all  cases  where  open  sin  is 
perpetrated  at  all,  it  advances  step  by  step  in  this  way. 
First  come  the  guilty  feelings,  burning  in  the  heart, — and 
though  restrained  for  a  time,  they  soon  acquire  a  strength 
which  external  influence  can  no  longer  control.  Then  comes 
the  guilty  intention,  when  the  mind  decides  against  con- 
science and  duty,  and  prepares  itself  to  go  forth  to  sin  ;  and, 
finally,  the  open  act  of  iniquity  closes  the  scene.  It  is  true, 
that  in  many  cases  these  stages  succeed  each  other  with  al- 
most instantaneous  rapidity.  A  man  receives  a  sudden  and 
deep  injury  from  his  enemy  ; — he  grasps  a  glittering  dagger 
and  plunges  it  to  his  heart.  All  is  over  in  a  moment,  but 
the  sin,  though  instantaneous,  is  complicated,  and  a  very 
slight  degree  of  care  in  making  the  analysis,  will  enable  any 
one  to  distinguish  between  the  feelings,  and  the  intention, 
and  the  action,  which  it  clearly  comprises. 

Now  it  is  the  first  of  these  stages  which  the  law  of  God 
chiefly  regards  ;  for  it  is  plain  that  it  is  this  alone  which  is 
the  true  index  of  character.  The  rest  depends,  in  far  too 
great  a  degree  on  accidental  circumstances,  to  be  taken  much 
into  the  account  in  estimating  guilt.  Whether  Joseph's 
brethren,  for  example,  would  ever  form  any  plan  for  doing 
the  object  of  their  hatred  any  actual  injury,  must  evidently 


THE    CRUCIFIERS  237 


Difference  between  divine  and  human  laws. 


have  depended  upon  the  occurrence  of  favorable  opportu- 
nities of  carrying  such  a  plan  into  effect.  In  a  Christian 
country,  the  circumstances  of  society  would  render  such  an  act 
of  iniquity  as  this  impracticable ;  and  public  opinion  is  in  such  a 
state  as  to  operate  as  a  most  powerful,  and  in  most  cases,  an 
effectual  restraint  against  any  such  deeds  of  violence.  And 
yet  there  are  thousands  of  cases,  doubtless,  in  every  Christian 
country,  where  feelings  exist  between  brother  and  brother, 
that  are  precisely  similar  to  those  which,  in  the  case  of 
Joseph,  led  to  the  commission  of  an  atrocious  crime. 

Now  it  is  the  almost  universal  practice  in  this  world,  to 
attach  far  too  much  relative  importance  to  the  overt  acts  of 
sin,  and  too  little  to  the  state  of  heart  from  which  those  acts 
proceed.  The  cause  of  this  is  two-fold.  First,  men  have 
very  inadequate  conceptions  of  the  spirituality  of  God's  law, 
in  any  respect ;  and  secondly,  human  laws  necessarily  relate 
almost  exclusively  to  external  acts,  and  public  sentiment  feels 
the  influence  and  imbibes  the  spirit  of  these  laws. 

Human  laws,  in  fact,  as  we  have  already  intimated  in  an- 
other place,  aim  at  objects  entirely  difierent  from  that  of  the 
divine  law.  Their  design  is,  not  to  distribute  to  every 
man  the  just  recompense  which  he  deserves,  nor  to  purify  the 
heart,  and  bring  back  the  unhappy  sinner  to  holiness  and 
peace.  Their  object  is  simply  to  protect  the  community 
from  the  aggressions  of  evil  men.  Now  a  wicked  feeling 
merely,  does,  comparatively,  no  immediate  injury  to  society ; 
and  as  protection  is  the  sole  aim  of  law  and  government 
among  men,  there  are  no  enactments  against  wicked  feelings, 
or  even  against  wicked  intentions.  Human  codes  give  up 
this  ground  altogether ;  and  taking  their  stand  upon  the 
nearest  limit  of  the  open  act,  they  say  to  human  passions, 
Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  but  wo  farther.  It  is  here  alone 
that  human  law  arms  itself  with  its  penalties,  and  this  is 
the  whole  field  of  its  conflict  with  the  wickedness  of  man. 


238  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Consequences  no  criterion  of  guilt.  The  murderer. 

The  law  of  God  has,  however,  a  very  different  object.  Its 
design  is  not  merely  to  repress  the  outbreaking  of  sin,  so  as 
to  protect  men  from  its  injuries, — but  to  remove  and  eradi- 
cate forever  the  guilty  spirit  from  his  heart.  It  seeks  not  to 
arrest  the  consequences,  but  to  destroy  the  cause.  Its  design 
is  to  ascertain  the  true  character,  to  deal  with  every  one  as 
his  true  character  deserves,  and,  if  possible,  to  bring  the 
wandering  and  miserable  sinner  back  to  duty  and  to  happi- 
ness. Human  laws  say  therefore  to  man.  Take  care  that  you 
never  carry  your  sins  so  far  as  to  encroach  upon  your  neigh- 
bor's rights, — we  must  secure  protection.  The  law  of  God 
says  to  him,  You  are  forbidden  to  sin  at  all.  The  one  de- 
nounces punishments  in  proportion  to  the  injury  which  is 
done, — ^the  other  regulates  its  penalties  by  the  exact  meas- 
ure of  the  secret  guilt  incurred.  A  human  government 
seizes  a  man  who  has  plunged  his  knife  into  his  neighbor's 
bosom  ;  but  if  a  skillful  physician  interposing  can  stop  the 
flowing  blood,  allay  the  rising  fever,  and  save  the  endangered 
life,  it  immediately  relaxes  its  grasp,  and  says  in  spirit,  "  Go 
free  from  the  charge  of  murder ;  the  physician  who  arrested 
the  injury  has  saved  your  life.  We  look  only  at  conse- 
quences." But  the  divine  government  will  arrest  the  crimi- 
nal as  he  endeavors  to  move  away,  and  say  to  him,  "  Stop, 
you  are  a  murderer.  God  looks  not  at  the  consequences,  but 
at  the  guilt.     Whoso  hateth  his  brother  is  a  murderer." 

For  these,  and  perhaps  other  reasons,  human  law,  and  con- 
sequently to  a  great  extent,  public  sentiment,  has  condemned, 
almost  exclusively,  in  this  world,  the  open  acts  of  wicked- 
ness ;  and  thus  men  are  and  always  have  been  prone  to  con- 
sider it  as  of  very  little  consequence,  so  long  as  their  outward 
conduct  is  fair,  what  corrupt  desires,  or  raging  passions  pos- 
sess their  hearts.  If  the  fires  do  not  flash  out  to  view,  they 
care  little  how  luridly  they  burn  within.  But  God  sees  not 
as  man  sees.     He  regards  the  heart  as  the  true  seat  of  virtue 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  239 


The  feelings  of  the  heart  and  external  conduct.  The  lady.  The  rude  boy. 


and  of  vice — and  the  external  conduct,  which  we  notice  so 
attentively,  he  almost  passes  by  ;  his  eye  looks  through  all 
these  exterior  coverings,  and  penetrating  to  the  inmost  soul, 
he  comes  to  a  contest  with  iniquity  in  the  very  heart  and 
center  of  its  reign. 

How  obvious  and  unquestionable  is  the  principle  that  the 
external  conduct  is  regulated  quite  as  much  by  the  circum- 
stances in  which  one  is  placed,  as  by  the  true  character  ;  and 
that  therefore  external  conduct  is  no  safe  criterion  of  charac- 
ter. A  thousand  illustrations  of  this  principle  might  be 
drawn  from  among  the  most  common  occurrences  of  life.  A 
lady  of  elegance  and  refinement,  moving  in  high  rank  in  so- 
ciety, surrounded  by  circumstances  which  most  effectually 
forbid  the  open  exhibition  of  the  evil  passions  of  the  heart  by 
any  of  the  rough  forms  in  which  they  often  show  themselves, 
cherishes,  we  will  suppose,  a  feeling  of  envy  or  jealousy, 
which  soon  ripens  into  anger,  against  some  one  of  her  ac- 
quaintance ;  and  in  peculiar  circumstances,  it  is  possible  that 
she  may  be  almost  continually  under  the  influence  of  these 
feelings,  so  that  she  lies  down  at  night,  and  rises  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  these  bad  passions  rankling  in  her  bosom.  But  in 
the  presence  of  the  object  of  her  displeasure,  and  surrounded 
by  society,  how  possible  is  it  for  all  external  indication  of  her 
feelings  to  be  restrained.  Her  brow  is  smooth,  her  eye  is 
mild,  her  tone  is  gentle  ; — and  so  completely  have  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  Providence  has  placed  her,  trained  her 
to  the  necessity  and  to  the  habit  of  civility,  that  she  dares  not 
transgress.  A  rude  and  savage  boy,  with  the  same  passions, 
and  in  precisely  the  same  state  of  heart,  not  being  controlled 
by  such  circumstances  of  restraint,  displays  his  passions  by 
open  malediction,  or  by  clubs  and  stones.  Now  how  differ- 
ent are  the  views  which  the  world  takes  of  such  cases  as 
these.  And  I  am  far  from  saying  that  that  they  must  neces- 
sarily be  equal  in  guilt.     The  passions  which  are  the  same 


240  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Application  of  these  principles. 

in  kind,  in  both,  may  differ  in  degree.  What  I  wish  to  say, 
is,  that  God  looks  at  the  passions  reigning  in  the  heart,  and 
not  at  the  open  exhibitions  of  them,  which  the  circumstances 
of  the  individual  may  lead  him  to  make.  This  is  what  is 
meant  by  the  passage,  "  Whoso  hateth  his  brother  is  a  mur- 
derer." It  is  so  with  all  other  sins.  A  man's  character  for 
honesty  does  not,  in  the  eye  of  God,  depend  upon  his  not 
stealing,  but  upon  his  being,  in  heart,  cordially  willing  and 
desirous  that  all  around  him  should  enjoy  fully  their  rights ;  his 
character  for  benevolence,  not  upon  his  deeds  of  charity,  but 
upon  his  heartfelt  desires  that  all  connected  with  him  should 
be  happy  ; — his  character  for  truth,  not  upon  his  refraining 
from  directly  falsifying  his  word,  but  upon  his  being  sincere 
and  honest  in  heart.  Mankind  do  not  consider  these  distinc- 
tions. It  happens,  consequently,  that  a  very  large  part  of  the 
virtue  of  this  world  is  the  virtue  of  circumstances,  not  of 
character ;  that  is,  it  is  no  virtue  at  all ;  and  yet  it  is 
esteemed  and  applauded  by  men  as  if  it  originated  in  the 
loftiest  moral  principle. 

But  the  reader  may  perhaps  inquire  what  connection  these 
remarks  have  with  the  crucifixion  of  the  Savior, — the  subject 
announced  at  the  commencement  of  this  chapter.  They 
have  this  to  do  with  it.  The  principles  which  we  have  been 
considering  show  us  that  though  the  crucifixion,  as  an  event, 
— a  transaction,  may  have  been  extraordinary  and  dreadful 
in  the  extreme,  it  does  not  thence  follow  that  as  sm  it  was 
very  extraordinary.  Certain  sinful  propensities  and  passions 
led  in  that  case  to  consequences  which  can  not  in  ordinary 
cases  flow  from  them.  But  precisely  the  same  principles  and 
passions  may  reign  in  the  heart,  and  load  it  with  an  equal 
burden  of  guilt,  though  the  circumstances  in  which  the  actor 
is  placed  may  be  such  as  entirely  to  modify,  or  even  effect- 
ually to  restrain  the  natural  and  proper  results.  If  we 
wish  then  to  derive  the  intended  advantage  from  this  portion 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  241 


The  characters  of  the  crucifiers.         Their  characters  common.         Judas  Jscariot. 

of  Scripture  history,  we  must  consider  these  things, — we 
must  make  these  discriminations  between  the  sin  itself  and 
the  particular  forms  in  which,  from  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  it  then  assumed.  We  must  look  at  the 
characters  of  the  actors,  rather  than  their  deeds  ;  for  in  char- 
acter, we  may  ourselves  be  like  those  actors,  though  from  the 
entirely  different  circumstances  in  which  we  are  placed,  we 
have  not,  and  we  never  can  have  the  opportunity  to  commit 
the  crimes  that  they  perpetrated.  I  shall  endeavor,  therefore, 
as  I  go  on  to  the  examination  of  the  story,  to  bring  to  view  as 
clearly  as  possible  the  characters  of  those  concerned  in  it :  with 
particular  reference,  too,  to  the  aspects  which  similar  charac- 
ters would  assume  at  the  present  day.  If  I  am  not  very 
greatly  deceived,  Pontius  Pilate  and  Judas  Iscariot,  and  even 
the  Roman  soldiers,  have  far  more  imitators  and  followers 
than  is  generally  supposed, — and  that,  too,  within  the  very 
pale  of  the  Christian  church. 

We  left  the  Savior,  at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  going 
out  late  at  night  with  his  disciples,  from  the  place  where 
they  had  held  their  last  assembly.  They  passed  out  of  the 
gate,  and  went  down  the  hill  and  across  the  rivulet  which 
flowed  through  the  valley,  and  thence  ascended  the  Mount 
of  Olives  on  the  other  side.     One  however  was  absent. 

Judas  Iscariot,  it  will  be  recollected,  had  left  the  assembly 
some  time  before.  He  had  his  arrangements  to  mature  for 
delivering  the  Savior  to  the  soldiers  appointed  to  make  him 
prisoner.  It  seems  that  the  leading  priests  had  been  desirous 
of  making  Jesus  a  prisoner,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  him 
to  trial,  but  they  did  not  dare  to  do  it  openly,  for  fear  of  an 
uproar  among  the  people  ;  their  only  other  plan,  therefore, 
was  to  find  out  his  private  retreats,  and  send  an  armed  band 
for  him  at  some  time  when  he  was  alone  with  his  friends. 
This  plan  it  was  difficult  to  execute,  for  Jesus  generally 

L 


242  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

His  probable  character  and  plans.  Trust  conferred  upon  him. 

withdrew  himself  very  privately,  when  his  work  was  done, 
and  they  did  not  know  how  to  find  him.  Judas  relieved 
them  of  the  difficulty. 

But  who  was  Judas  ?  let  us  look  a  little  at  his  history  and 
character. 

There  seems  to  be  no  evidence  against  the  supposition  that 
he  was  just  such  a  man  as  any  other  of  those  worldly  profes- 
sors of  religion,  which  are  to  be  found  by  thousands  in  the 
Christian  church  at  the  present  day.  It  is  plain  that  he  was 
not  that  abandoned  and  hardened  reprobate  which  he  is 
very  generally  supposed  to  have  been  :  if  so,  he  would  not 
have  hung  himself  when  he  found  what  were  the  conse- 
quences of  his  crime.  It  does  not  seem  to  be  at  all  improb- 
able, that  when  he  joined  the  Savior's  cause  he  thought  he 
was  sincere.  A  man  would  not  be  likely  to  connect  himself 
with  such  a  cause  for  the  express  purpose  of  obtaining  money. 
This  is  possible,  but  certainly  very  improbable.  It  seems  far 
more  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  became  a  professed  dis- 
ciple, as  thousands  do  at  the  present  day,  with  his  heart  un- 
changed and  not  aware  of  his  own  true  character. 

They  who  have  a  strong  love  for  the  world,  have  often  no 
uncommon  share  of  worldly  wisdom  ;  or,  at  least,  those  who 
love  money  generally  know  well  how  to  take  care  of  it ;  and 
Judas,  like  many  others  since  his  day,  was  appointed  to  a 
trust  which  proved  a  very  dangerous  one  to  him.  In  fact, 
the  very  love  for  such  a  trust  which  fitted  him  to  discharge 
the  duties  of  it  successfully,  made  those  duties  very  danger- 
ous to  him.  It  is  altogether  probable  that  love  of  money  ac- 
quired its  ascendency  over  him  very  gradually.  It  almost 
always  does.  Very  few  persons  have  the  hardihood  to  unite 
themselves  with  the  Christian  church  deliberately  with  the 
design  of  making  their  connection  with  it  a  mere  source  of 
profit ;  but  very  many  who  join  it  professedly  with  other  de- 
signs do,  in  fact,  gradually  turn  their  connection  with  it  to 


THE    CRUOlFIEltS.  243 


His  present  followers.  The  church. 

this  purpose.  They  are  deceived  at  first  about  the  sincerity 
of  their  motives  ;  they  feel  some  sort  of  interest  in  religion, 
which  interest  they  mistake  for  genuine  piety  ;  but  as  it  is 
without  foundation  it  soon  disappears,  the  world  gradually 
regains  its  hold,  and  as  it  comes  back  and  fixes  its  reign,  it 
leads  the  man  to  avail  himself  of  every  advantage  which  he 
can  derive  from  his  new  position,  to  increase  his  own  earthly 
stores.  At  first  he  does  this  without  particular  injury  to  the 
cause  which  he  has  espoused,  but  soon  the  claims  of  interest 
and  of  his  Master's  service  come  into  slight  collision.  The 
latter  yields,  though  he  is  so  blinded  that  he  is  not  aware  of 
it.  The  cases  become  more  frequent  and  more  decided  ;  but 
the  progress  of  blindness  goes  on  as  fast  as  the  progress  of 
sin,  so  that  he  continues  undisturbed,  though  he  is  as  really 
betraying  the  cause  of  his  Master,  as  if  he  were  actually  guid- 
ing an  armed  band  to  his  private  retreat. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  cases  which  might  be  stated  in  ex- 
emplification of  this.  We  will  suppose  one  or  two.  A  ques- 
tion arises  in  a  certain  town  about  the  erection  of  a  place  of 
public  worship.  The  situation  of  the  building  will  affect  the 
value  of  the  property  in  its  vicinity,  and  a  certain  wealthy 
professor  of  religion,  with  reference  solely  to  this  effect  upon 
his  property,  is  determined  that  the  building  shall  be  in  one 
place,  while  the  rest  of  the  church  are  determined  it  shall  be 
in  another.  To  make  the  case  simple,  we  will  suppose  that 
the  majority  are  guided  by  good  principles  in  their  selection, 
that  they  consult  the  best  interests  of  the  Savior's  cause  in 
the  decision  that  they  have  made,  and  consequently  that  the 
fault  is  on  the  side  of  the  single  wealthy  man.  Such  is  how- 
ever his  influence  that  he  can  throw  embarrassment  and  in- 
superable difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  rest.  He  divides  the 
Savior's  friends,  alienates  one  from  another,  and  is  thus  the 
instrument  of  destroying  the  peace  of  the  church,  and  extin- 
guishing the  light  of  its  piety.     Years  do  not  heal  the  injuries 


244  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Various  ways  of  betraying  Clirist's  cause.  The  worldly  pastor. 

which  he  inflicts  upon  the  Savior's  cause.  He  betrays  it, 
and  he  betrays  it  for  money, — -just  as  truly  as  if  he  had  been 
directly  bribed  by  thirty  pieces  of  silver  to  deliver  up  his 
Lord.  In  fact  he  does  even  a  greater  injury  than  that ;  and 
it  is  by  no  means  certain  which  will  at  last  be  found  to  have 
incurred  the  heaviest  doom,  he  who  sold  the  Savior's  life  to 
Roman  soldiers,  or  he  who,  from  the  same  motive,  turns 
traitor  to  the  church,  and  breaks  down  its  barriers  against 
the  admission  of  spiritual  foes.  The  latter  certainly  betrays 
a  more  valued  object,  and  delivers  it,  too,  to  more  dreadful 
foes  ;  for  Jesus  Christ  has  given  most  abundant  proof  that  he 
loves  the  church  far  more  than  his  own  personal  safety,  and 
that  he  fears  discord  and  hatred  and  spiritual  death,  far 
more  than  the  insults  and  injuries  of  Roman  soldiers,  or  even 
than  the  unutterable  sufferings  of  the  cross. 

But  let  us  take  another  case.  It  is  that  of  a  worldly 
pastor,  who  consents  to  receive  in  charge  a  branch  of  his 
Master's  church,  when  his  motive  is  his  pay.  He  neglects 
his  appropriate  work,  and  devotes  his  time  and  his  attention, 
and  gives  all  his  heart,  to  the  work  of  increasing  his  stores. 
He  does  it  privately  and  silently,  but  the  world  around  him 
soon  understand  it.  They  are  quick  to  perceive  hypocrisy, 
and  to  detect  the  true  character  of  worldliness,  however 
dexterously  it  may  clothe  itself  in  the  garb  of  piety.  The 
meney-getting  disciple  thinks,  perhaps,  that  all  is  going  on 
well.  He  performs  his  duties  with  punctilious  formality,  but 
his  heart  is  not  in  the  work,  and  the  souls  within  his 
influence  are  only  chilled  by  the  coldness  of  the  form.  In  a 
word,  the  cause  committed  to  him  is  betrayed, — it  is  betrayed, 
too,  for  money  ;  and  if  it  is  true  that  in  the  sight  of  God,  the 
heart,  and  not  the  particular  acts  by  which  the  heart  may 
manifest  itself,  is  the  criterion  of  character,  he  must  expect 
to  stand  with  Judas  when  the  time  of  reckoning  shall  come. 

How  many  times  has  a  man  of  business,  while  professing 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  246 


The  merchant.  The  probable  intentions  of  Judas.  Judas's  excuses. 

to  love  the  Savior,  betrayed  his  Master's  cause  by  violating 
its  principles,  and  thus  brought  open  disgrace  upon  it,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  vt'orld.  He  deals  in  conmmodities  which  are 
destructive  to  the  souls  and  bodies  of  men,  or  he  acts  on 
principles  which  are  entirely  inconsistent  with  Christian 
character.  Unjust,  oppressive,  and  miserly,  he  disgraces  the 
name  which  he  has  hypocritically  assumed.  But  he  accom- 
plishes his  object ; — he  acquires  the  money  for  whiqh  he  is 
willing  to  sell  his  Master.  Even  Judas  was  paid.  He 
secures  also  his  other  object,  that  of  being  called  a  Christian. 
He  is  however  a  betrayer.  For  the  mass  of  mankind  bring 
down  their  conceptions  of  religion  to  the  rank  of  the  lowest 
pretender  to  it  whom  they  can  find  ;  so  that  he  v/ho  serves 
the  world  and  sin,  while  he  pretends  to  be  a  Christian,  does 
not  generally  disgrace  himself,  he  degrades  Christianity. 
Still  he  accomplishes  his  objects.  He  is  called  a  Christian, 
and  makes  his  money ;  but  he  must  rank  among  the  traitors 
at  last. 

Judas  had  no  idea,  probably,  that  any  very  serious  con- 
sequences would  have  resulted  from  what  he  was  about  to  do. 
He  might  have  known,  indeed,  had  he  thought  about  it,  but 
he  probably  thought  of  little  but  his  thirty  pieces  of  silver. 
If  he  did  reflect  at  all,  it  was  probably  only  to  quiet  himself 
with  the  excuses,  which,  in  similar  circumstances,  men 
always  make  ;  such  as  that  it  was  his  duty  to  increase  his 
property  by  all  honest  means, — that  there  could  be  no  great 
harm  in  merely  introducing  the  soldiers  to  the  Savior — that 
if  he  did  not  give  them  the  information  they  desired,  some- 
body else  certainly  would.  All  the  ordinary  excuses  would 
have  applied  perfectly  here. 

It  is  highly  probable  therefore  that  Judas,  notwithstanding 
the  pre-eminence  in  sin  which  is  generally  assigned  to  him, 
will  appear  at  the  great  day  only  as  an  ordinary  type  and 
example  of  an  immense  class  of  offenders. 


246  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  midnight  scene.    Jerusalem.    The  garden.    The  coming  forth  of  the  soldiers. 

However  this  might  be,  the  wretched  man  went  at  mid- 
night to  the  place  of  rendezvous ;  and  while  he  and  the  sol- 
diers who  were  to  accompany  him,  were  receiving  their  direc- 
tions and  forming  their  plans  in  the  city,  the  Savior  was  bend- 
ing under  the  burden  of  those  intolerable  but  mysterious  suf- 
ferings, which  have  thrown  an  eternal  gloom  over  the  garden 
of  Gethsemane.  Upon  what  a  scene  the  moon,  which  was 
always  4ull  at  the  time  of  the  Jewish  passover,  must  have 
looked  down,  at  this  sad  hour. 

It  is  midnight ;  the  moon  is  high,  and  the  streets  of  Jeru- 
salem are  deserted  and  still,  except  when  the  footsteps  of 
some  solitary  passenger  re-echo  a  moment  upon  the  ear,  and 
then  die  away.  Beyond  the  walls,  even  deeper  silence  and 
solitude  reign ;  every  bird  is  at  its  rest,  and  in  the  still 
night  air,  we  can  hear  the  brook  murmuring  through  the 
valley.  In  the  garden  on  the  other  side  too,  the  consecrated 
place  of  prayer,  every  zephyr  is  hushed,  every  leaf  is  in 
repose,  and  the  moon  is  silvering,  with  its  cold  light,  the 
outlines  of  the  foliage,  and  brightening  on  the  distant  hills. 

It  is  midnight,  the  hour  of  stillness  and  rest,  but  yet  the 
whole  scene  is  not  one  of  repose.  The  scattered  disciples  of 
Jesus  wait  for  their  Master,  who  is  bending  down  in  his 
lonely  retreat,  under  a  burden  of  suffering  which  we  can 
neither  appreciate  nor  comprehend.  And  in  some  lurking 
place  in  the  silent  city,  the  rough  soldiers  are  lighting  their 
lanterns,  and  girding  on  their  weapons,  and  forming  their 
plans.  Presently  they  issue  forth,  and  pass  on  from  street  to 
street,  now  in  light  and  now  in  shadow,  stealing  along  prob- 
ably in  careful  silence,  lest  they  might  arouse  some  of  the 
people,  and  provoke  the  interference  which  their  masters 
dreaded.  At  this  moment,  what  a  spectacle  must  the  whole 
scene  have  presented  to  a^iy  one  who  could  have  looked 
down  upon  the  whole.  The  dark  betrayer,  walking  in 
advance  of  his  band  with  cautious  steps,  half  fearing,  and 


IHE    CKUCIFIERS. 


247 


The  betrayer.  Apparent  discrepancy. 


half  rejoicing  in  his  anticipated  success ; — the  careless  sol- 
diers following,  to  execute  a  work  which  they  probably  did 
not  distinguish  from  any  other  similar  deed  which  they  often 
performed ; — the  disciples,  scattered  through  the  valley,  and 
in  the  garden,  some  probably  anxious  and  unhappy,  and 
others,  overcome  with  bodily  and  mental  exhaustion,  sunk  in 
sleep  ; — Jesus  Christ,  struggling  in  solitude,  under  the  pres- 
sure of  sufferings  which  overwhelmed  him  with  indescribable 
agitation,  and  almost  unnerved  his  soul.  There  must  have 
been  something  uncommon  in  an  anguish  which  could  carry 
the  Savior's  fortitude  to  its  utmost  limit.  On  the  cross  he 
was  calm. 

One  of  the  most  striking  proofs  of  the  genuineness  and  truth 
of  the  narratives  of  this  transaction  which  are  recorded  in 


248 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  two  accounts. 


Fearlessness  of  truth. 


the  New  Testament,  is  the  apparent  discrepancy  between 
the  two  accounts  of  the  scene  which  occurred,  when  Judas 
and  his  band  arrived  at  the  place  to  which  Jesus  had 
retired.  That  this  discrepancy  may  be  the  better  under- 
stood, we  place  the  two  accounts  in  opposite  columns. 


Matt.  xxvi.  47-50. 

And  while  he  yet  spake,  lo, 
Judas,  one  of  the  twelve,  came, 
and  with  him  a  great  multitude, 
with  swords  and  staves,  from  the 
chief  priests  and  elders  of  the 
people. 

Now  he  that  betrayed  him  gave 
them  a  sign,  saying,  Whomsoever 
I  shall  kiss,  that  same  is  he ;  hold 
him  fast.  And  forthwith  he  came 
to  Jesus  and  said,  Hail  Master, 
and  kissed  him. 

And  Jesus  said  unto  him. 
Friend,  wherefore  art  thou  come  ? 
Then  came  they  and  laid  hands 
on  Jesus  and  took  him. 


John  xviii.  3-8. 

Judas  then,  having  received  a 
band  of  men  and  officers  from  the 
chief  priests  and  Pharisees,  cometh 
thither  with  lantern-!  and  torches 
and  weapons. 

Jesus,  therefore,  knowing  all 
things  that  should  come  upon  him, 
went  forth,  and  said  unto  them, 
Whom  seek  ye  ? 

They  answered  him,  Jesus  of 
Nazareth.  Jesus  saith  unto  them, 
I  am  he.  And  Judas  also,  which 
betrayed  him,  stood  with  them. 

As  soon  then  as  he  had  said 
unto  them,  I  am  he,  they  went 
backward,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

Then  asked  he  them  again, 
Whom  seek  ye  ?  And  they  said, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

Jesus  answered,  I  have  told 
you  that  1  am  he.  If  therefore 
ye  seek  me,  let  these  go  their  way. 


Fabricators  of  a  story  would  never  have  left  such  a  dis- 
crepancy as  this ;  and  yet  it  is  precisely  such  an  one  as  two 
original  witnesses  would  have  been  almost  certain  to  have 
fallen  into,  in  narrating  the  circumstances  of  such  a  case. 
Scenes  of  calm  and  quiet  action,  where  but  few  individuals 
are  concerned,  and  incidents  succeed  each  other  with  quiet 
regularity,  may  be  described  perhaps  in  nearly  the  same  Ian- 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  24S 


Explanation.  The  encounter.  Resistance. 

guage  by  different  and  independent  observers  — but  in  a  scene 
of  tumult  and  confusion,  where  many  are  acting  and  talking 
together,  each  in  a  great  degree  regardless  of  the  rest,  faith- 
ful witnesses  who  describe  what  they  actually  see,  will  tell 
very  different  stories.  A  large  number  of  the  discrepancies 
of  the  Bible  are  of  this  character,  and  they  are  the  most 
striking  proofs  of  the  fearless  honesty  of  the  witnesses  who 
recorded  the  facts. 

Judas  came  with  a  preconcerted  part  to  perform.  He  had 
arranged  every  thing  beforehand,  and  probably  he  had,  as  it 
were,  every  look  and  action  committed  to  memory.  He  had 
braced  himself  up  to  his  work,  and  had  fixed  its  details  with 
so  much  minuteness,  that  he  could  perform  his  part  almost 
mechanically,  as  soon  as  the  proper  moment  should  arrive. 
This  is  human  nature  as  it  shows  itself  on  all  such  occasions. 
It  learns  its  task,  when  it  has  one  of  an  agitating  nature  to 
perform,  or  is  to  act  in  any  extraordinary  emergency ;  and 
then  it  comes  up  to  the  moment  of  action  with  a  sort  of  men- 
tal momentum  which  carries  it  through,  right  or  wrong,  and 
leaves  it  very  little  power  to  modify  its  course,  or  to  adapt  it 
to  any  new  or  unexpected  circumstances.  Judas  came  with 
his  plan  thus  formed  ;  Jesus  had  also  his  own  course  marked 
out,  and  the  almost  mechanical  determination  of  the  one, 
came  into  collision  with  the  fearless  and  lofty  energy  of  the 
other.  The  soldiers  fell  back ;  perhaps  they  did  not  know 
till  they  saw  him,  who  it  was  whom  they  were  to  bring ; 
and  in  the  confusion  of  the  encounter,  each  witness  has  re- 
corded what  struck  most  forcibly  his  own  observation. 

There  was  a  slight  resistance,  but  Jesus  stopped  it,  and 
surrendered  himself  a  prisoner.  The  soldiers  regained  their 
courage,  after  the  momentary  alarm  excited  by  the  Savior's 
sudden  appearance,  and  began  to  secure  their  victim.  There 
was  enough  in  their  rough  ferocity  to  terrify  the  disciples, 
and  they  fled.     The  soldiers  made   perhaps  some  eflbrt  to 


260  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Binding  the  prisonor.  Jesus  before  the  priests.  Their  two  charges. 

secure  them  too.  They  certainly  endeavored  a  short  time 
after,  to  seize  a  young  man,  on  their  way,  who  came  out  in 
his  night  dress,  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  commotion 
which  he  heard.  At  any  rate  the  disciples  fled,  and  the 
soldiers  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  secure  their  prisoner. 

They  bound  him  ; — and  binding,  under  such  circumstances, 
is  a  very  different  thing  from  what  most  of  our  readers  would 
suppose.  The  cords  are  not  drawn  lightly  around  the  wrists 
of  a  military  prisoner.  They  secured  him,  and  returned  to- 
ward the  city.  The  priests  were  too  deeply  interested  in  the 
triumphs  they  were  about  to  enjoy,  to  wait  quietly  for  the 
regular  time  of  trial.  Some  of  them  even  came  out  with  the 
soldiers  toward  the  place  where  Jesus  was  taken,  and  others 
assembled  in  the  palace  of  the  High  Priest,  and  Jesus  was 
taken  directly  into  the  midst  of  them.  Here  they  spent 
some  time  in  collecting  their  testimony,  and  framing  their 
charges,  and  urging  each  other  on  to  a  higher  pitch  of  ex- 
citement, and  to  more  determined  and  inveterate  hostility. 

There  might  possibly  be  a  case  in  which  men  might  be 
deceived  in  regard  to  the  character  of  a  good  man,  and  might 
press  him  very  severely  with  the  effects  of  their  displeasure, 
from  honest,  though  mistaken  convictions  of  his  guilt.  That 
this,  however,  was  not  the  case  here,  is  very  certain  from  the 
nature  of  the  charges  brought  against  the  Savior  at  the  differ- 
ent tribunals  where  he  was  successively  brought  to  trial. 
These  charges  were  varied  to  suit  circumstances,  and  there- 
fore could  not  have  been  honest.  In  this  case,  he  was  before 
the  Jewish  priests,  and  the  accusation  brought  against  him  was, 
irreverence  in  speaking  of  what  their  religion  taught  them  to 
hold  sacred  ; — ^they  called  it  blasphemy.  This  charge  they 
attempted  to  prove  from  some  expressions,  perfectly  innocent 
in  the  sense  in  which  he  had  used  them,  and  almost  perfectly 
so,  even  with  the  meaning  which  they  pretended  to  attach 
to  them.     They  found  it  difficult  to  establish  their  charges 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  251 


Blasphemy.  Political  condition  of  the  Jews.  Capital  pimishment. 

by  any  honest  witnesses  that  they  could  procure,  but  they 
were  soon  satisfied  in  another  way.  When  he  began  to 
speak  of  himself  they  seized  upon  the  innocent  expressions 
which  he  used,  and  perverting  them  from  their  real  import, 
they  called  what  he  uttered  blasphemy,  and  the  High  Priest 
rent  his  clothes  with  affected  horror.  They  spent  some  time 
in  gratifying  their  resentment  and  hatred,  by  insulting  and 
tormenting  their  victim  in  every  possible  way.  He  had  pre- 
tended to  be  a  prophet,  and  they  accordingly  blindfolded  him, 
and  then  beat  him,  asking  him  to  prophesy  who  it  was  that 
struck  the  blow.     Jesus  suffered  it  all  in  silence. 

The  conclusion  of  their  deliberation,  if  such  treatment  of  a 
helpless  prisoner  could  be  called  deliberation,  was,  that  he 
ought  to  die.  But  in  effecting  his  death  there  was  a  very 
formidable  difficulty  in  their  way,  which  must  be  particularly 
described. 

Judea  was,  at  this  time,  a  Roman  province.  It  had  been 
conquered  by  the  armies  of  the  empire  some  years  before,  and 
was  accordingly  now  under  Roman  government.  The  policy 
which  the  Romans  seemed  to  have  pursued,  in  maintaining 
their  power  over  the  countries  which  they  had  conquered, 
was  to  leave  the  inhabitants  as  much  as  possible  to  their 
own  customs  and  laws,  interfering  only  in  respect  to  certain 
great  and  important  points,  which  could  not  safely  be  left  to 
the  vanquished  people.  The  command  of  all  the  forts,  and 
of  all  the  soldiers,  they  of  course  assumed  themselves.  They 
took  the  direction  of  all  the  important  public  measures,  and 
they  reserved,  too,  a  control  over  the  higher  criminal  cases 
which  might  occur  in  the  administration  of  justice.  This 
policy  now  had  been  adopted  in  respect  to  the  Jews  :  in  re- 
gard to  the  administration  of  criminal  justice  it  had  been 
decreed  that  all  inferior  punishments  the  Jews  might  inflict 
themselves,  but  they  were  not  permitted  to  take  life  in  retri- 
bution for  crime,  without  the  permission  of  their  conquerors 


252  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  Roman  governor.  His  hall.  The  priests  remain  in  the  street. 

Of  course,  then,  there  was  no  way  by  which  they  could  pro- 
cure the  exeecution  of  Jesus,  but  by  carrying  him  to  the 
Roman  government,  and  obtaining  the  sentence  of  death 
there. 

But  how  could  they  do  this  ?  Their  charge  against  him 
was  blasphemy,  and  what  interest  could  Roman  officers  be 
expected  to  take  in  a  case  of  blasphemy  ?  The  governor 
was  comparatively  a  stranger  there,  having  been  in  posses- 
sion of  the  government  only  six  or  eight  years.  He  was  a 
Roman,  not  a  Jew ;  he  felt  consequently  little  interest  in 
Jewish  feelings,  and  no  reverence  for  what  the  Jews  held 
sacred.  How  to  get  a  sentence  of  death  confirmed  by  such 
a  man,  against  a  criminal  charged  with  such  a  crime  as 
blasphemy,  was  the  question. 

It  could  not  be  done.  They  knew  that  it  could  not  be 
done  ;  for  a  Roman  officer,  as  the  event  in  this  case  showed, 
could  understand  the  claims  of  justice,  when  his  own  interest 
or  ambition  did  not  interfere  with  them.  If  they  go  to  Pilate 
therefore  with  their  persecuted  prisoner,  they  must  have 
some  more  plausible  pretext  than  the  story  of  the  blas- 
phemy. 

By  this  time  their  number  had  probably  much  increased  ; 
and  when  the  hour  arrived  at  which  they  could  obtain  ad- 
mission at  the  Roman  hall,  they  bound  their  prisoner  again, 
and  led  him  forth  into  the  street.  Attended  and  followed  by 
a  throng  of  his  Jewish  enemies,  the  Savior  walked  quietly 
on  until  he  arrived  in  front  of  the  palace  occupied  by  the 
Roman.  When  they  arrived  the  Jews  sent  Jesus  in,  re- 
maining outside  in  the  street  themselves, — lest  they  should 
be  defiled!  What  perfectly  good  friends  are  superstition 
and  sin,  and  with  how  little  interference  will  they  share 
the  dominion  of  the  heart.  Here  is  a  savage  crowd,  tyr- 
annizing over  a  defenseless  and  helpless  man,  in  the  extreme 
of  injustice  and  cruelty  ;    their  blood  is  boiling  with  angry 


THE    CRUCIFIERS. 


253 


Scruples  of  the  Jews. 


Another  apparent  discrepancy. 


passions,  and  no  ob 
stacles  or  difficulties 
are  sufficient  to  restrain 
them  in  their  eager- 
ness to  secure  the  de- 
struction of  their  vic- 
tim ; — and  yet,  thus 
excited,  thus  inflamed, 
and  thus  destitute  of 
all  right  principle  to 
restrain  them,  they 
stop  at  once  when  they 
come  to  the  doors  of 
a  Roman  building,  and 
will  not  enter  it,  for 
fear  that  they  shall  he 


THE    PALACE. 


The  Roman  was  a  pagan,  and  his  apartments  were  for- 
bidden ground  to  them.  The  strictness  of  their  law  had  pro- 
hibited even  so  slight  a  connection  as  this  with  idolatry  ;  es- 
pecially when  they  were  about  to  celebrate  any  of  the  more 
solemn  ordinances  of  the  law.  The  passover  was  at  hand, 
and  they  must  eat  it.  They  could  insult  and  torture  an  in- 
nocent victim,  but  they  must  not  omit  to  eat  the  paschal 
lamb  !  They  could  stand  burning  with  malice  and  rage  in 
a  Jewish  street  ;  but  to  cross  the  threshold  of  a  pagan  dwell- 
ing,— would  never  do.  Every  man  there  probably  prided 
himself  on  his  scruples, — his  inflexible  precision  in  obeying 
the  law ;  but  thought  nothing  of  the  loathsome  and  terrible 
corruption  which  had  full  possession  of  his  heart.  Whited 
sepulchers  the  Savior  had  called  them.  What  an  exact 
comparison  ! 

They  were  particularly  scrupulous  at  this  time,  on  account 
of  the  approaching  passover,  as  the  narrative  informs  us  ;  but 


254  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Truth  and  fabrication.  Explanation. 

the  same  narrative  states  that  the  passover  had  been  cele- 
brated the  evenmg  before  ;  for  it  was  to  keep  this  feast  that 
Jesus  and  his  disciples  had  met  on  the  preceding  evening. 
The  apparent  discrepancy  is  another  of  those  marks  of  genu- 
ineness, which  no  skill  can  ever  counterfeit.  The  occur- 
rences of  real  life  constitute  a  most  complicated  web,  where 
a  thousand  actors,  and  a  thousand  events  mingle  and  inter- 
twine in  the  most  intricate  confusion.  All  is  however,  in 
fact,  consistent,  though  no  one  eye  can  take  in  the  whole. 
Through  this  congeries,  truth  takes  its  bold  and  unhesitating 
way,  confident  that  it  can  not  find  at  any  one  point  any 
thing  which  is  really  inconsistent  with  what  it  is  to  meet 
with  at  another,  and  therefore  it  speaks  freely  of  what  it  sees, 
and  boldly  exhibits  every  object  which  may  lie  in  its  track. 
It  runs  of  course  into  apparent  difficulties.  It  leaves  inter- 
ruptions and  chasms,  which  additional  light  must  correct 
and  explain,  and  it  is  only  when  that  additional  hght  is  fully 
furnished  that  we  see,  in  all  its  perfection,  the  consistency 
and  harmony  of  the  whole.  Fabrication  can  not  take  such 
a  course.  She  must  make  things  consistent  and  plain,  as 
she  goes  on ;  or  if  she  leaves  an  apparent  difficulty,  there 
must  be  an  explanation  at  hand. 

The  researches  of  scholars  have  reconciled  this  apparent 
disagreement ;  in  fact  there  are  several  considerations,  each 
of  which  is  sufficient  to  account  for  the  language  used.  Per- 
haps the  most  important  is,  that  there  was  a  dispute  at  that 
time  in  regard  to  the  day  on  which  the  passover  should  be 
kept ; — some,  relying  simply  on  the  declarations  of  Scripture, 
celebrated  it  on  one  evening,  and  the  priests  and  pharisees, 
following  certain  traditions,  preferred  the  next.  It  is  not  ne- 
cessary, however,  for  our  purpose  to  dwell  on  this  subject 
here. 

The  character  exhibited  by  these  priests  is  the  second  great 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  255 


Judas  and  the  priests  compared.  The  spirit  of  the  priests. 

variety  which  this  whole  transaction  brings  to  view.  Enmity 
to  the  Savior  appears  in  them  in  very  different  forms  from 
that  which  it  assumed  in  Judas.  His  ruling  passion,  was 
love  of  money, — theirs  was  love  of  place  and  power.  They 
were  priests  ;  all  their  estimation  in  society,  and  all  the  vir- 
tue, on  which  they  so  confidently  prided  themselves,  depended 
on  the  ceremonies  of  the  Jewish  law.  Undermine  these,  and 
call  public  attention  from  ceremonial  exactness  to  internal 
purity,  and  such  an  influence  and  such  characters  as  theirs 
would  be  ruined.  Jesus  Christ  had  been  doing  this  most 
effectually,  and  all  their  spiritual  pride,  ambition,  and  every 
worldly  feeling  was  roused. 

There  is  a  great  difierence,  also,  between  the  actual  ap- 
pearances which  were  exhibited  in  the  two  cases.  Judas 
was  calm,  the  priests  were  furious.  Judas  endangered  his 
Master's  life  by  cool,  calculating  treachery  ;  the  priests  were 
loud  and  boisterous  and  urgent,  in  effecting  his  destruction. 
The  former  was  the  accessory,  assisting  others  in  what  he 
never  would  have  undertaken  himself.  The  latter  were  the 
principals,  originating  every  plan,  and  pressing  it  forward 
wdth  the  most  open  and  determined  energy. 

The  reason  for  this  difference  is,  that  the  principles  w^hich 
Jesus  Christ  was  publishing  came  at  once  into  inevitable 
and  direct  collision  with  the  ambitious  views  and  feelings  of 
the  priests,  while  they  were  not  thus  aggressive  in  respect  to 
the  avarice  of  Judas.  The  Savior's  principles  did  indeed  as 
plainly  forbid  the  avarice,  but  his  acts  did  not  come  so  directly 
in  the  way  of  its  gratification.  Judas  was  left  to  pursue  un- 
interrupted his  own  plans,  but  the  hollow  hypocrisy  of  the 
Jews  was  not  thus  left.  Every  public  address  made  by  the 
Savior  was  most  directly  exposing  it.  Judas,  therefore,  re- 
mained quiet  and  und  sturbed,  while  the  priests  were  goaded 
on  to  fury.  The  ruling  passion  was  gently  drawn  out  of  its 
retreat,  in  the  former  case,  allured  by  the  opportunity  of  grati- 


256  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Contentions  among  denominations.  Peter. 

fying  itself  by  the  ruin  of  its  victim  ;  in  the  latter,  it  was 
boldly  assaulted  in  its  den,  and  the  contest  was,  of  course,  a 
desperate  struggle  for  existence. 

The  spirit  of  the  high  priests  exists  still  in  the  world, — 
reigning  in  many  a  heart  which  puts  the  splendor  of  forms, 
or  the  stability  of  an  ecclesiastical  organization,  in  place  of 
the  progress  of  pure,  heartfelt  piety.  Many  a  pastor  would 
prefer  having  a  man  in  his  congregation,  rather  than  in 
another's  church,  and  will  really  regret  the  progress  of  re- 
ligion, if  he  sees  its  current  flowing  out  of  his  own  commu- 
nion. How  many  times  have  professed  friends  of  God  stopped 
suddenly  the  progress  of  his  cause,  by  contending  about  a 
division  of  the  fruits  of  its  success.  They  think  that  they  are 
punctilious  for  the  order  and  regularity  of  the  church.  So 
did  Caiaphas.  They  sacrifice  the  interests  of  the  soul,  for 
the  sake  of  scrupulous  adherence  to  what  they  deem  the  letter 
of  the  law.  This  was  exactly  the  sin  of  the  priests  and 
Pharisees.  The  law  of  God,  and  attachment  to  his  pre- 
scribed ordinances,  is  their  pretended  motive,  while  love  of 
personal  influence  or  denominational  ascendency  is  the  real 
one.  So  it  was  with  these  crucifiers  of  the  Savior.  There 
may  be  a  great  difference  in  the  degree  in  which  these  feel- 
ings are  exhibited,  but  let  those  who  cherish  them  study  the 
case,  and  see  if  they  can  find  any  difference  in  kind.  We 
can  find  none.  Whoever  puts  his  rank  and  station,  and  the 
interests  of  that  division  of  the  church  to  which  he  belongs, 
on  which  perhaps  his  rank  and  station  depend,  in  competi- 
tion with  the  progress  of  real,  heartfelt,  genuine  piety  in  the 
world,  will  find,  if  he  is  honest,  that  the  spirit  of  the  Jewish 
Sanhedrim  is  precisely  his. 

But  now  comes  a  new  character  still,  upon  this  ever- 
varying  stage.  At  the  door  of  the  hall  where  this  trial  is 
going  on,  stands  a  man  who  is  watching,  with  eager  in- 
terest, every  thing  which  takes  place.     He  seems  to  be  a 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  257 


His  appearance  at  the  hall.  Character  of  Peter  and  John. 

stranger.  He  endeavors  to  affect  unconcern,  but  he  plainly 
is  not  one  of  the  common  bystanders  there.  Presently 
some  one  comes  down  to  the  door,  and  procures  admission 
for  him,  and  he  takes  his  place  by  the  fire  with  the  others, 
who  are  waiting  to  see  the  end.  He  is  accused  several  times, 
by  persons  who  notice  his  appearance,  of  being  one  of  the 
friends  of  the  prisoner,  but  he  is  afraid  to  admit  it.  An  hour 
ago  he  drew  his  sword  in  his  master's  defense, — now  he  dares 
not  admit  that  he  knows  him.  Perhaps  he  was  afraid  that 
Malchus  would  remember,  against  him,  his  wounded  ear. 
He  had,  in  fact,  more  reason  to  fear  than  any  other  disciple  ; 
and,  as  human  nature  is,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  should 
be  overcome  by  the  greatness  of  the  danger. 

If  this  scene  were  fiction,  one  of  its  highest  beauties  would 
be  the  contrast  of  character  between  Peter  and  John.  A 
superficial  observer,  drawing  from  imagination,  would  have 
made  Peter,  in  all  respects,  bold  and  undaunted  ;  and  in  ex- 
hibiting John  as  mild  and  gentle,  would  have  made  him 
timid  and  yielding.  But  history,  in  this  case,  as  she  is  re- 
cording facts,  is  true  to  nature,  and  while  she  gives  to  Petei 
physical  boldness  and  constitutional  ardor,  she  gives  the  calm, 
steady,  lofty  moral  courage  to  the  gentle  John.  At  mid- 
night, among  lanterns,  and  torches,  and  weapons,  and  an 
armed  band,  Peter  rushes  on  with  his  sword ;  but  when  the 
hour  of  physical  excitement  has  passed,  he  turns  pale  at  the 
question  of  a  maid-servant,  and  denies  his  Lord.  John  has 
no  resistance  to  offer  to  a  soldier  ;  but  amid  all  his  Master's 
dangers,  he  keeps  close  to  his  side,  his  known  and  acknowl- 
edged friend ;  attending  him  faithfully  on  his  trial,  and  do- 
ing all  he  can  by  his  presence  and  sympathy  to  soothe  his 
last  moments  upon  the  cross. 

Reader,  if  you  had  been  in  Peter's  case,  should  you  have 
denied  your  Master  as  he  did  ?  Were  this  question  to  be 
proposed  to  any  assembly  of  Christians,    and  if  an  answer 


258  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Peter's  sin  very  common.  Hia  temptations  compared  with  ours. 

were  to  be  immediately  given,  according  to  the  spontaneous 
feelings  of  the  heart,  it  would  be,  perhaps,  one  universal 
negative.  You  think  that  you  yourself  would  certainly  never 
have  committed  so  great  a  sin ;  and  still  it  is  not  at  all  im- 
probable that  you  are  cherishing  a  secret  hope  that  your  sins 
are  forgiven,  and  are  yet  concealing  it  from  others.  You 
hope  that  you  are  the  Savior's  friend,  but  you  are  afraid  or 
ashamed  to  have  it  known  to  others  that  you  are  so.  You 
wish  to  make  secret  peace  ;  and  are  unwilling  to  repair  open- 
ly, the  injury  which  you  have  openly  done. 

Still,  you  will  say  perhaps,  that,  though  this  may  be 
wrong,  there  is  a  great  difference  between  such  a  conceal- 
ment, and  repeatedly  and  plainly  denying  the  Savior  in  ex- 
press assertions. 

True.  And  so  there  is  a  great  difference  between  the  de- 
gree of  danger  which  leads  you  to  deny  your  Master,  and  that 
which  overwhelmed  Peter.  You  are  afraid  of  a  taunt,  or  of 
some  harmless  sarcasm ;  scourging  and  crucifixion  threatened 
him.  You  are  afraid  of  the  looks  and  words  of  a  few  of  your 
own  companions  ;  he  quailed  before  weapons  of  torture  and 
death,  in  the  hands  of  a  ferocious  soldiery  ;  if  you  consider, 
therefore,  the  difference  between  the  modes  by  which  your 
practical  denial  of  Christ,  and  his,  are  exhibited,  you  must 
also  consider  the  difference  in  the  strength  of  the  tempta- 
tions by  which  you  are  respectively  overcome.  The  sin  is  the 
same  in  its  nature  in  both  cases,  and  though  yours  is  less  con- 
spicuous, it  may  be  even  more  rather  than  less  aggravated 
than  his. 

The  sin  of  Peter  is,  in  all  essential  characteristics,  very 
often  committed  by  those  who  profess  to  abhor  it.  Brought 
as  we  are,  in  such  a  world  as  this,  into  perpetual  connection 
with  the  influences  of  sin,  we  are  very  often  thrown  into  cir- 
cumstances where  we  think  it  most  prudent,  for  a  time,  to 
conceal  the  flag  under  which   we  profess  to  sail.     There  is 


THE    CRUCIFIERS. 


259 


Denying  Christ  at  the  present  day.  The  narrative  resumed. 

no  great  danger  which  we  dread  ;  but  when  we  come  into 
scenes  where  Jesus  Christ  is  not  honored,  and  where  his  prin- 
ciples are  in  disrepute,  we  quietly  conceal  our  attachment  to 
him ;  and  while  we  perhaps  say  nothing  that  is  false,  we 
allow  ourselves  to  pass  for  worldly  men,  by  speaking  in  their 
tone,  and  displaying,  so  far  as  we  can,  their  spirit.  We  are 
ashamed  or  ai'raid  to  avow  our  principles,  and,  consequently, 
we  stand  substantially  where  Peter  did.  There  is,  in  fact, 
no  essential  difference  between  his  case  and  ours.  The  cir- 
cumstances are  altered,  but  the  spirit  is  the  same. 

But  we  must  go  on  with  our  story.  The  Jews,  too  punc- 
tilious to  go  themselves  into  the  judgment  hall,  waited  in  the 
street  and  sent  their  prisoner  in.  The  conversation  which 
ensued  is  one  of  the  most  striking  examples  which  the  Bible 
contains  ; — every  incident  being  so  true  to  nature,  and  every 
word  so  exactly  in  keeping  with  the  character  and  circum- 
stances of  the  individual  who  utters  it.  It  was  substan- 
tially as  follows.  While  reviewing  it,  however,  we  must 
keep  in  mind  the  strongly-marked  characteristics  of  the  three 
great  parties  in  the  transaction.  Jesus  the  victim,  patient, 
quiet,  and  submissive,  ready  to  bear  and  to  suffer  every  thing  ; 
silent  under  mere  taunts,  but  ready  to  explain,  when  any  one 
shall  honestly  ask  for  explanation.  The  crowd  in  the  street, 
eager  for  his  destruction,  but  without  power  to  effect  it,  un- 
less they  can  obtain  permission  from  the  governor,  before 
whose  palace  they  have  assembled  ;  and  the  governor  himself 
caring  nothing  about  the  Jews  or  their  pretended  criminal ; 
but  unwilling  either  to  put  an  innocent  man  to  death,  or  to 
displease  the  people  under  his  command,  and  standing  espe- 
cially in  awe  of  any  thing  which  might  hazard  his  political 
character  in  the  estimation  of  the  emperor  at  Rome.  Agi- 
tated and  distracted  by  the   contrary  impulses  of  these  feel- 


260  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  dialogue  in  the  street.  Charge  of  treason. 


ings,  he  vacillates  and  wavers,  and  tries  every  way  to  escape 
the  responsibility  of  a  decision. 

The  reader  must  bear  in  mind  that  the  conversation  and 
the  incidents,  as  we  proceed  to  relate  them,  are  not  pictures 
of  the  writer's  imagination,  but  that  the  account  is  faithfully 
transcribed  from  that  of  the  sacred  writers,  with  no  change, 
except  the  adaptation  of  the  language  to  the  purposes  of  this 
narrative. 

"What  accusation  do  you  bring  against  this  man?"  was 
the  first  and  most  natural  question.  Pilate  came  out  to  ask 
it  of  those  who  had  assembled  at  the  door. 

They  answered  that  he  was  a  malefactor.  Perhaps  they 
had  not  decided  upon  the  precise  charge  which  they  should 
bring  against  him. 

"  Very  well,"  was  the  reply,  "  take  him  then  and  judge 
him  according  to  your  law." 

"  He  deserves  death,  and  that  it  is  not  lawful  for  us  to 
inflict,"  they  replied.  "We  have,  therefore,  brought  him 
to  you." 

A  conversation  now  ensued,  in  which  they  produced  a  new 
charge,  one  adapted  to  the  feelings  of  the  new  judge.  The 
old  accusation  was  blasphemy.  Now  it  is  treason.  Treason 
against  the  Roman  government.  This,  too,  when  every  Jew, 
from  Gahlee  to  Gaza,  abhorred  the  Roman  yoke,  and  would 
have  almost  deified  any  one  who  would  have  raised  success- 
fully the  standard  of  rebellion.  Every  Roman  tax-gatherer 
was  hated,  and  every  mark  of  the  political  subjection  of  the 
country  was  odious  in  the  extreme  ;  and  they  had  them- 
selves attempted  in  vain  to  lead  Jesus  to  say  something 
against  the  Roman  government,  supposing  that  he  would  not 
dare  to  brave  public  opinion  so  far  as  to  speak  in  its  favor. 
In  the  face  of  all  this,  they  come,  heartless  pretenders  to  an 
allegiance  which  they  did  not  feel,  to  denounce  him  to  their 
common  enemy,  for  what  they  would,  every  man  of  them, 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  261 


Pilate  and  the  Savior  in  the  hall. 


have  been  glad  to  have  had  done.  It  was  the  basest  of  all 
charges  ever  brought  against  the  victim  of  any  oppression. 
They  accused  him,  before  their  common  enemy,  of  being 
their  own  friend  ;  for  treason  against  Csesar  would  have 
been  political  attachment  to  them  ;  so  that  if  he  had  uttered 
sentiments  hostile  to  the  powerful  foe  which  had  brought 
one  common  oppression  over  the  land  of  their  fathers,  it 
would  have  been  base  treachery  for  them,  to  have  dis- 
closed it. 

But  he  had  not.  They  took  some  of  his  metaphorical 
expressions,  and  perverted  them  to  a  meaning  which  they 
were  never  intended  to  convey  ;  and  endeavored  from  these 
to  maintain  their  charge  of  treason  against  Csesar. 

The  charge  was  well  calculated  to  produce  some  effect. 
It  evidently  arrested  the  attention  of  the  Roman,  and  he  went 
into  the  hall,  where  Jesus  stood  waiting,  to  ask  for  his  defense. 

The  manner  in  which  he  accosted  him  seems  to  imply  that 
Pilate  thought  it  probable  that  his  prisoner  was  some  insane 
or  at  least  eccentric  man,  against  whom  his  countrymen  had 
been  for  some  reason  exasperated  ;  for  he  does  not  put  the 
charge  of  treason  to  him  as  an  accusation  against  which  he 
wished  to  hear  his  defense  ;  "  Art  thou  the  king  of  the  Jews  ?" 
said  he  ;  as  if  his  object  were  to  put  him  off  his  guard,  by 
saying  nothing  which  implied  reproach,  but  only  endeavoring 
to  draw  him  into  conversation. 

"Do  you  ask  the  question  of  your  ovm.  accord  ?"  was  the 
Savior's  reply,  "  or  is  that  the  charge  which  they  bring  against 
me."  It  must  be  remembered,  that  Jesus,  having  remained 
within  the  hall,  had  not  heard  the  conversation  which  Pilate 
had  held  with  his  enemies  in  the  street. 

"Am  I  a  Jew?"  asked  Pilate  in  reply.  "  What  interest 
should  I  take  in  the  affairs  of  your  people  ?  Your  own  coun- 
trymen have  brought  you  here  to  me,  as  a  criminal  :  what 
is  it  that  you  have  done  ?" 


262  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Pilate's  efforts.  His  inquiries.  His  plan  for  avoiding  a  decision 

"  They  accuse  me  then  of  trying  to  be  a  king.  I  have 
spoken  sometimes  of  a  kingdom,  but  it  is  not  of  this  world- 
It  is  evident  that  I  have  not  aimed  at  poUtical  power ;  if  I 
had,  I  should  never  have  yielded  up  myself  to  my  enemies 
without  a  struggle.  My  friends  would  have  fought  for  me 
if  this  had  been  the  nature  of  my  aim.  No  :  the  kingdom 
which  I  have  spoken  of  is  not  of  this  world." 

"  Are  you  a  king,  then,  in  any  sense  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I  came  into  the  world  to  found  a  new 
moral  kingdom  here,  by  bearing  witness  to  the  truth." 

"  What  is  your  truth  ?"  asked  the  Roman  ;  but  apparently 
not  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  went  out  to  the  door  again,  and 
told  the  multitude  there,  that  he  found  no  fault  in  the  man. 
He  probably  supposed  that  he  was  some  ignorant  and  deluded, 
but  harmless  enthusiast,  Avhose  case  deserved  no  serious 
notice. 

The  priests,  however,  renewed  their  charges.  They 
assured  the  governor  that  their  prisoner  was  really  a  dan- 
gerous man,  that  he  had  been  exciting  sedition,  and  teaching 
the  people  treason  against  the  Roman  government,  all  over 
the  land,  from  Galilee  to  Jerusalem. 

The  word  Galilee  suggested  to  the  perplexed  Roman  a 
new  way  of  extricating  himself  from  the  difficulty,  for  it  was 
fast  becoming  quite  a  serious  difficulty  to  him.  His  sense  of 
justice  would  not  allow  him  to  condemn  an  innocent  man, 
but  he  could  not  resist  the  clamor  which  demanded  his 
death.  The  word  Galilee  reminded  him  that  he  might 
throw  off  the  responsibility  of  the  decision  upon  Herod,  who 
had  jurisdiction  over  that  province,  and  who  was,  at  this 
time,  accidentally  at  Jerusalem.  He  sent  Jesus  therefore  to 
Herod,  his  accusers  following  in  the  train. 

Herod  was  glad  to  see  them  come,  when  he  heard  who  it 
was  that  they  were  bringing.  He  did  not  wish,  like  Pilate, 
honestly  to  examine   the    case,  but   hoped    for  amusement 


THE    CRUCIFIEHS.  263 


Herod.  The  Savior's  silence.  Another  plan. 


from  his  prisoner.  Jesus  perceived  it  at  once  ;  and  though 
he  frankly  explained  to  Pilate  his  character  and  plans,  to 
Herod's  questions  of  curiosity  and  insult  he  deigned  no  reply. 
The  priests  and  scribes  accused  him  vehemently,  but  he  was 
silent.  They  clothed  him  in  a  gorgeous  robe,  in  ridicule 
of  his  supposed  pretensions,  and  then  sent  him  back  to 
Pilate. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  Procurator  was  much  per- 
plexed to  know  what  to  do.  Duty  was  on  the  one  side,  and 
strong  inducement  to  do  wrong  on  the  other,  and  he  wavered, 
and  hesitated,  and  resisted,  and  inclined  now  to  this  side,  and 
now  to  that,  just  as  the  human  mind  so  often  does,  in  cir- 
cumstances substantially  the  same.  Millions  of  men,  who 
struggle  ineffectually  with  temptation  to  do  acknowledged 
wrong,  may  see  their  own  story  told,  and  almost  their  own 
hearts  reflected  in  this  scene. 

His  first  plan  was,  to  compromise  the  difficulty. 

"  You  have  brought  me  this  man,"  said  he,  "  as  one  that 
is  exciting  the  people  against  my  government.  I  have 
examined  him,  here  before  you,  and  can  not  find  any 
evidence  of  his  guilt.  I  have  sent  him  to  Herod  too,  and 
he  finds  no  more  evidence  than  I.  Now  I  am  willing  to 
inflict  some  moderate  punishment  upon  him,  but  he  has 
done  nothing  worthy  of  death." 

This  of  course  did  not  satisfy  the  Jews.  They  were  deter- 
mined, if  the  most  urgent  demands  on  their  part  could  pre- 
vent it,  that  he  should  not  escape  so. 

Pilate  then  thought  of  another  proposal,  It  had  been 
customary  for  him  at  the  great  festival  of  the  Jews  to 
release  some  public  criminal,  as  a  favor  to  them.  In  a 
conquered  country  the  interests  of  the  government  are  gen- 
erally regarded  as  so  distinct  from  those  of  the  people,  that 
even  the  punishment  of  criminals,  especially  those  guilty  of 
political  crimes,  is  regarded  as  in  some  sense,  an  injury  to 


2C4 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Barabbas  called  for. 


The  excitement. 


Pilate's  perplex!  .y. 


the  community.  A  foreign  power  comes  and  establishes 
itself  over  them,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  even  wholesome 
control  should  be  unpopular,  and  that  the  pardon  of  a  state 
criminal  should  be  regarded  as  a  boon  from  the  authorities, — 
a  suitable  contribution  from  the  government,  to  the  means  of 
rejoicing  at  a  great  public  festival. 

The  Roman  proposed,  then,  since  the  Jews  insisted  that 
Jesus  should  be  condemned  to  die,  to  consider  him  as  thus 
condemned,  and  then  to  pardon  him,  as  it  was  usual  to  par- 
don one  on  the  occasion  which  had  now  arrived.  He  might 
have  known  that  this  proposition  would  not  satisfy  them. 
The  crowd  were  all  ready  with  their  reply.  "  Release 
Barabbas ;' 


Barabbas ;"    "  Pardon 
from  a  hundred  voices. 


"  Barabbas,"    came    up 

"What   shall   I  do 
then  with  this  Jesus  ?" 
"  Crucify  him ; — Cru- 
cify him." 

"  Why,  what  evil 
hath  he  done  ?  He  is 
not  guilty." 

"  Crucify  him ; — Cru- 
cify him  ;"  was  the  uni- 
versal reply. 

The   perplexed    and 
distressed      Procurator 
seems  scarcely  to  have 
known     what     to    do. 
The  crowd  must  at  this 
time  have  become  very 
great,  and  was  proba- 
bly every  moment  increasing.     Passions  were  rising, — violent 
gesticulations,  and  ferocious  looks,  spoke  the  intense  excitement 
which  prevailed, — and   he  must  have  seen  that  there  was 


CRUCIFY   HIM. 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  265 


The  scourging.  The  crown  of  thorns. 

the  most  imminent  danger  of  a  riot,  perhaps  an  insurrection, 
which  would  involve  him  in  lasting  difficulty,  or  might  even 
ruin  forever  his  political  hopes.  He  could  allay  the  whole 
by  giving  up  the  defenseless  and  innocent  object  of  their 
fury.  But  when  he  looked  upon  him,  patient,  mild,  sub- 
missive, waiting  in  silence  to  learn  what  was  to  be  his 
fate,  he  could  not  do  it.  He  was  a  Roman,  and  he  knew 
his  duty. 

It  was  very  plain,  however,  from  the  course  that  he  had 
taken  thus  far,  what  would  be  the  ultimate  decision.  He 
began  to  yield  at  last,  and  when  a  man  proposes  terms  with 
sin  of  any  kind,  it  is  not  difficult  to  foresee  which  will  con- 
quer. Pilate  concluded  to  go  one  step  farther  ;  to  scourge 
the  prisoner,  in  hopes,  perhaps,  that  when  his  enemies  came 
to  witness  his  sufferings  under  the  lash,  their  hearts  would 
relent,  or  at  least  that  their  anger  would  be  satisfied.  He 
gave  him  up  to  the  soldiers  therefore,  and  ordered  him  to  be 
scourged. 

Scourging  !  How  few  of  those  who  have  read  this  story 
have  any  idea  what  a  military  scourging  is.  I  might  give 
a  description  from  the  narratives  of  witnesses,  for  the  horrid 
sufiering  is  still  inflicted  as  a  siipposed  essential  part  of  mili- 
tary discipline.  But  it  must  not  be  done  ;  I  could  not  intro- 
duce to  my  readers,  by  distinct  description,  a  hardy  soldier, 
writhing  and  shrieking  under  such  an  infliction,  without 
passing  those  limits  in  the  detail  of  physical  suffering,  beyond 
which,  such  a  work  as  this  ought  not  to  go.  How  Jesus  bore 
it,  we  are  not  told.  Pilate  hoped  it  would  satisfy  his  mur- 
derers.    It  would  have  satisfied  any  common  murderers. 

The  scourging  finished, — the  bleeding  sufferer  was  retain- 
ed some  time  by  the  soldiers,  for  their  amusement.  A  larger 
number,  perhaps  nearly  the  whole  garrison  of  Fort  Antonia, 
were  called  to  enjoy  the  sport.  They  crowned  him  with 
thorns,  and  gave  him  a  reed  for  a  scepter,  and  then  with  the 

M 


266 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


One  more  appeal  to  the  Savior's  enemies. 


The  decision. 


gorgeous  robe  which  Herod  had  found  for  him,  they  held  him 

up  as  an  object  of  universal  derision. 

Pilate  at  length  came  forth  again,  to  make  a  last  effort  to 

save  the  prisoner. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "  I 
have  brought  him  forth 
again,  to  tell  you  once 
more,  that  he  is  not 
guilty.  Behold  the 
man,"  said  he,  as  he 
pointed  to  the  prisoner, 
covered  with  marks  of 
the  sufferings  and  in- 
dignities he  had  borne. 
The  reed  was  in  his 
hands,  the  purple  robe 
around  him,  and  the 
thorns  were  in  his 
bleeding  temples.  No 
wonder  Pilate  thought 
his  enemies  would  have 


BKHOLD   THE   MAN. 


been  moved. 

"  Crucify  him,"   "  Crucify  him  ;"  was  the  universal  reply. 

"  You  must  take  him  then  and  crucify  him  yourselves,  for 
I  can  not  find  any  fault  in  him.  He  has  not  been  guilty  of 
treason." 

But  why  go  on  to  detail  the  faltering,  failing  efforts,  which 
the  E-oman  officer  made  to  save  his  prisoner.  He  had  begun 
to  yield,  and  though  he  continued  to  dispute  the  ground,  at 
every  step  he  gave  way  more  and  more,  until,  finding  that 
riot  and  tumult  were  inevitable,  and  when  it  was  pretty  dis- 
tinctly intimated  that  he  might  be  denounced  at  Rome,  as  a 
traitor  himself,  if  he  allowed  this  supposed  traitor  to  go  free, 
he  finally  yielded.     Before  giving,  however,  the  orders  for 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  267 


Character  of  Pontius  Pilate.  The  soldiers. 

the  crucifixion,  he  came  out  before  the  multitude,  and  in  the 
most  solemn  manner  assured  them,  that  the  man  was  inno- 
cent, and  that  if  they  crucified  him,  they  must  answer  for 
his  blood. 

"  His  blood  be  on  us,  and  on  our  children,"  was  the  awful 
reply. 

Very  few  men  ever  think  of  comparing  themselves  with 
Pontius  Pilate,  or  with  the  soldiers  who  executed  his  orders ; 
when  perhaps  there  are  not  anyM'^here  in  the  Bible,  delinea- 
tions of  character  which  might  be  more  universally  appro- 
priated than  these.  Neither  of  them  felt  any  special  hostility 
for  the  Savior.  Pilate  would  have  done  his  duty  if  he  could 
have  done  it  by  any  common  sacrifice  ;  but  like  multitudes, 
probably,  who  will  read  this  examination  of  his  character, 
he  was  not  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice  which  was  neces- 
sary, in  taking  the  right  side.  The  reader  fluctuates,  per- 
haps, just  as  he  did,  between  conscience  and  temptation, 
yielding  more  and  more  to  sin,  and  finding  the  struggle  more 
hopeless  the  longer  it  is  continued.  A  religious  book,  an 
afflictive  or  a  warning  providence,  or  an  hour  of  solitude, 
quickens  conscience,  and  renews  the  combat ;  but  the  world 
comes  in  with  its  clamors,  and,  after  a  feeble  resistance,  he 
gives  way  again, — a  Pilate  exactly,  in  every  thing  but  the 
mere  form  in  which  the  question  of  duty  comes  before  him. 

And  the  Roman  soldiers  too  ;  they  would  have  said  if  they 
had  been  charged  with  doing  wrong,  that  they  were  soldiers, 
and  that  they  must  do  as  they  were  ordered.  They  executed 
Christ  as  they  would  have  executed  any  other  man  at  their 
centurion's  command.  Such  work  was  their  business,  and 
the  part  which  they  performed  in  the  sad  tragedy  was,  as 
they  considered  it,  an  act  simply  of  official  duty  ;  they  felt, 
probably,  that  there  devolved  upon  them  personally  no  re- 
sponsibility whatever  for  the  deed.     The  excuse  was,  to  say 


268  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Sitming  in  the  way  of  business.  Various  characters  exhibited  at  the  cross. 

the  least,  as  good  then  as  it  is  now,  and  it  will  be  allowed  as 
much  weight  at  the  judgment  day  in  the  case  of  the  ignorant 
and  degraded  soldier,  as  in  that  of  the  enlightened  and  culti- 
vated member  of  a  Christian  community.  In  other  words, 
it  is  no  excuse  for  either.  The  bookseller  who  has  circulated 
a  pernicious  book,  the  lawyer  who  has  fomented  the  quarrels 
which  he* ought  to  have  healed,  the  merchant  who  has  dis- 
tributed over  the  community  the  temptations  to  vice,  or  the 
means  of  gratifying  unholy  passions,  and  the  soldiers  who 
insulted  and  tortured  their  victim  in  obedience  to  their  com- 
manders, will  all  find  at  last,  that  the  customs  or  regulations 
of  business  among  men,  will  never  justify  doing  what  con- 
science declares  to  be  wrong. 

Such  is  the  marked  and  striking  variety  of  character  which 
is  exhibited  in  this  extraordinary  scene.  We  have  the  sol- 
diers and  the  bystanders,  like  the  mass  of  mankind,  uncon- 
cerned and  reckless,  caring  little  about  right  and  wrong,  and 
controlled  in  their  conduct  by  the  accidental  influence  of 
circumstances, — ^neither  fearing  God,  nor  regarding  duty; 
and  we  have  Pilate,  doubting  and  hesitating  in  the  struggle 
against  sin, — conscience  awake,  and  yet  temptation  power- 
ful, and  the  contest  ending,  as  such  contests  usually  do,  in 
the  victory  of  sin.  They  are  fair  examples  of  the  two  great 
forms  of  open  wickedness  ;  hardened  reprobates  sinning  with- 
out compunction,  and  the  wavering  and  miserable  soul  doing 
wrong  in  spite  of  it.  It  is  hard  to  tell  which  God  regards 
a&  most  guilty.  We  have  hypocrisy,  also,  in  its  two  leading 
forms ;  Judas,  a  hypocrite  for  money,  and  the  priests,  hypo- 
crites for  place  and  power.  To  complete  the  collection,  we 
have  piety  in  its  two  leading  forms ;  the  wandering,  sinning, 
and  broken-hearted  Peter  ;  and  Mary  and  John,  firm  in  their 
duty,  and  unwavering  in  their  afiection,  to  the  last ;  sharing 
the  opprobrium  and  the  danger  of  their  Master,  and  keeping 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  269 


His  numerous  friends.  Crucifixion.  Inflammation. 

closely  at  his  side  ;  giving  him  all  that  human  sympathy  can 
give,  and  receiving  his  dying  charge. 

It  is  a  very  common  impression  that  the  populace,  gener- 
ally, were  against  the  Savior,  at  this  time  ;  but  the  narrative 
does  not  seem  to  countenance  this  idea.  The  priests  were 
against  him,  and  they  seem  to  have  been  the  chief,  if  not  the 
only  agents.  They  contrived  their  plans  secretly,  in  order 
to  get  him  apprehended,  and  to  procure  sentence  against  him 
by  the  Roman  governor,  before  there  should  be  any  opportu- 
nity for  a  rescue  by  the  people ;  after  this,  they  knew  that 
he  would  be  secure  ;  and  now  when  he  was  led  away,  under 
E-oman  authority,  to  execution,  they  seem  not  to  have  feared 
any  interruption.  A  great  company  of  friends  did,  however, 
follow  him,  lamenting  his  cruel  fate.  He  once  turned  to 
address  them  on  his  way,  asking  them  to  weep  not  for  him, 
but  for  themselves  and  their  children. 

They  came  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  painful  as  it  is, 
we  must  dwell  a  few  moments  upon  the  scene  that  was  pre- 
sented there.  Jesus  was  to  be  crucified  ;  and  crucifixion  is 
perhaps  the  most  ingenious  and  the  most  perfect  invention 
for  mingling  torture  and  death  which  was  ever  contrived. 
It  is  the  very  master-piece  of  cruelty.  Life  is  to  be  destroy- 
ed ;  but  in  this  way  of  destroying  it,  it  is  arranged  with  sav- 
age ingenuity  that  no  vital  part  shall  be  touched :  the  tor- 
turer goes  to  the  very  extremities, — to  the  hands  and  to  the 
feet,  and  fixes  his  rough  and  rusty  iron  among  the  nerves 
and  tendons  there  ;  and  the  poor  sufferer  hangs  in  a  position 
which  admits  of  no  change  and  no  rest,  until  burning  and 
torturing  inflammation  can  work  its  way  slowly  to  the  seat 
of  life,  and  extinguish  it  by  the  simple  power  of  suffering. 

They  laid  the  Savior  down  upon  the  cross,  and  extended 
his  arms  ;  a  soldier  on  each  side  holds  the  hand  down  in  its 
assigned  position,  and  then  presses  the  point  of  his  iron  spike 


270  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

TLirst.  Suffering.  Death. 

upon  the  proper  place  in  the  palm.  He  raises  his  hammer, 
— the  patient  sufferer  waiting  calmly  for  the  blow  : — 

But  we  must  stop  ; — we  are  going  beyond  those  limits  in 
the  detail  of  physical  suffering,  which  we  have  said  that  a 
writer  in  such  a  work  as  this,  should  not  pass  over.  We 
leave  the  rest,  and  the  reader  must  conceive,  if  he  can,  of  the 
first  sharp  piercing  agony,  and  the  excruciating  pains  then 
shooting  through  the  frame  ; — the  rising  inflammation,  and 
the  intolerable  thirst, — the  dreadful  thirst  of  the  wounded, — 
that  thirst  which  brings  up  from  a  field  of  battle,  a  few  hours 
after  the  contest,  one  universal  cry  for  water,  from  the  thou- 
sands who  lie  dying  upon  the  ground.  As  the  Savior  hangs, 
too,  by  such  a  suspension,  hour  after  hour,  we  must  remember 
that  he  hod  been  scourged.  Perhaps  this  was  in  mercy  how- 
ever.    He  died  sooner  than  the  malefactors. 

But  it  is  too  awful  a  scene  to  dwell  upon.  We  may  read 
the  narrative  in  the  gospels,  without  much  feeling,  because 
we  have  long  been  familiar  with  the  words,  and  they  cease 
to  affect  us.  But  if  the  imagination  really  enters  into  the 
scene,  she  recoils,  awed  and  terrified,  from  the  contemplation 
of  such  sufferings. 

Life  was  slow  in  relinquishing  its  hold,  attacked  thus,  as 
it  was,  in  the  remote  extremities.  It  sunk  at  last,  however, 
under  the  power  of  protracted  pain.  The  sufferer  ceased 
to  speak;  his  head  dropped  upon  his  breast;  and  as  they 
looked  up  to  his  face  from  below,  the  rigid  fixedness  of 
feature,  and  the  half  closed  and  glassy  eye  told  them  that  all 
was  over. 

In  crucifixion,  ingenious  and  savage  cruelty  maintains  her 
ground  to  the  very  last ;  for  when  the  executioner  gets  tired 
of  waiting  for  the  miserable  sufferer  to  die,  and  time  compels 
him  to  do  something  to  accelerate  the  work,  he  has  not  the 
mercy  to  destroy  the  sad  remnant  of  vitality  at  a  blow.     He 


THE    CRUCIFIERS.  271 


The  soldiera'  visit  at  sunset.  The  body  taken  down.  The  disciples. 

keeps,  still,  as  far  as  possible,  away  from  the  seat  of  life,  and 
by  new  violence  inflicted  on  the  limbs,  endeavors  simply  to 
send  a  new  pang,  as  a  reinforcement  to  the  assailant,  in  the 
protracted  contest  between  life  and  sufiering.  It  is  the  very 
object  and  aim  of  crucifixion  to  kill  by  pain,  and  with  savage 
consistency  they  will  employ  no  other  agent  to  speed  the 
work.  Accordingly  when,  at  sunset,  the  soldiers  came  to  the 
place  of  execution,  to  see  how  the  fatal  process  was  going 
on,  they  broke  the  malefactors'  legs  to  quicken  their  dying 
struggles. 

"  He  is  dead  already,"  said  they,  when  they  came  to  the 
Savior's  cross,  and  looked  at  the  body  hanging  passive  and 
lifeless  upon  it ;  and  one  of  them  thrust  his  long  iron-pointed 
spear  up  into  his  side,  to  prove  that  there  was  no  sense  or 
feeling  there. 

The  ferocious  executioners  then  went  away  and  left  the 
disciples  to  take  the  body  gently  down,  and  bear  it  away  to 
the  tomb.  As  they  carried  it  to  what  they  supposed  would 
be  its  long  home,  the  limbs  hung  relaxed  and  passive  ;  the 
tongue,  to  whose  words  of  kindness  and  instruction  they 
had  so  often  listened,  was  silent  ;  the  eye  fixed, — the  cheek 
pale, — the  hand  cold.  The  soldiers  had  done  their  worlc 
effectually  ;  and  though  the  disciples  could  not  have  noticed 
these  proofs  that  their  Master  had  really  gone,  without  tears, 
they  must  still  have  rejoiced  that  the  poor  sufferer's  agonies 
were  over. 

As  to  themselves,  all  their  hopes  were  blasted,  and  all  their 
plans  destroyed.  They  had  firmly  believed  that  their  Mas- 
ter was  to  have  been  the  Savior  of  his  nation ;  instead  of 
that,  he  had  been  himself  destroyed.  The  day  before,  every 
thing  had  looked  bright  and  promising  in  their  prospects  ; 
but  this  sudden  storm  had  come  on,  and  in  twenty- four  liours 
it  had  swept  every  thing  away.  They  placed  the  body  in 
the  tomb,  and,  disappointed,  broken-hearted,  and  overwhelm- 


272  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Moral  effect  of  the  scene. 


ed  with  sorrow,  they  went  to  their  homes.  They  knew  noth- 
ing about  the  design  and  nature  of  these  sufferings, — and  we 
know,  after  all,  but  little ;  but  who  can  be  so  insensible  as 
not  to  seo,  that  this  transaction,  exhibiting  on  so  conspicuous 
a  stage  all  the  forms  and  degrees  both  of  holiness  and  sin, 
and  especially  when  seen  in  the  light  in  which  the  sacred 
writers  subsequently  exhibited  it,  goes  very  far  toward  mak- 
ing the  same  moral  impression,  as  would  be  made  by  the  just 
punishment  of  sin.  Who  can  read  the  story,  without  loving 
purity  and  holiness,  and  abhorring  and  dreading  guilt. 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  273 

Plan  of  the  work.  Human  life. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  PARTING  COMMAND,  OR  THE  MEANS  OF  SPREADING  THE 
GOSPEL. 

"  Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature." 

Were  we  to  follow  inclination,  we  should  not  pass  over 
those  most  interesting  events,  which  occurred  during  the  in- 
terval between  the  Savior's  death  and  ascension.  But  it  is 
not  the  design  of  this  work,  as  the  reader  will  have  already 
perceived,  to  give  a  connected  and  continuous  history  of 
Jesus  Christ,  but  to  bring  forward  the  leading  principles  of 
religious  truth,  as  they  are  naturally  connected  with  the 
various  points  of  this  history.  Fidelity  to  our  plan  therefore 
seems  to  require,  that  after  having  considered  the  sufferings 
which  our  Savior  endured  for  us,  we  should  pass  on  to  the 
consideration  of  the  great  work  which  he  wishes  us  now  to 
do  for  him.  He  assigned  this  work  to  his  disciples  by  his 
last  words. 

The  objects  and  the  pursuits  of  human  life  are  entirely 
changed,  by  the  view  which  the  gospel  takes  of  the  human 
condition  and  character.  Without  the  light  which  Chris- 
tianity sheds  upon  it,  life  is  a  dull  and  wearisome  path,  a 
routine  of  tiresome  duties,  or  heartless  pleasures.  Every  one 
will  admit  that  it  has  been  so  with  him,  in  respect  to  the 
past,  though  his  future  way  seems  gilded  with  new  promises 
of  enjoyment.  These,  however,  will  certainly  fade  away, 
when  he  approaches  them,  as  all  the  rest  have  done. 

M* 


274  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Anticipated  happiness.  What  have  I  to  live  for. 

The  mass  of  mankind  never  see  this.  They  know,  it  is 
true,  that  they  have  never  been  really  contented  and  happy, 
and  are  not  so  now ;  but  just  before  them,  in  the  voyage  of 
life,  they  see  a  bright  spot  upon  the  waters,  which  they  ex- 
pect soon  to  reach,  and  where  their  bark  will  float,  they 
think,  in  a  golden  sea  of  light  and  glory.  That  spot  has  been 
just  as  far  from  them,  and  has  looked  just  as  bright  and  al- 
luring for  years, — and  as  they  have  approached  it,  the  splen- 
did reflection  has  fled,  and  the  waters  have  returned  to  dark- 
ness and  gloom,  before  the  keel  of  their  bark  could  plow 
them.  Still  they  have  not  discovered  this  illusion,  but  they 
give  themselves  up,  again  and  again,  to  the  influence  of  these 
deceitful  hopes,  and  press  forward  as  eagerly  to  the  spot  of 
imagined  happiness,  as  if  it  had  now  just  for  the  first  time 
burst  upon  their  view. 

The  more  thinking  and  serious,  however,  see  the  truth, 
and  feel  it  deeply.  It  seems  to  them  discouraging  to  toil  on 
in  duties  which  return  every  day  the  same,  and  the  perform- 
ance of  which  leaves  behind  no  permanent  effects  ;  or  to  seek 
for  pleasures  which  the  experience  of  years  has  proved  can 
seldom  be  attained,  and  which,  when  they  are  attained,  do 
not  satisfy.  These  feelings  have  oppressed  many  a  sensitive 
and  reflecting  spirit,  as  it  has  looked  forward  to  the  years 
of  life  that  remain,  and  thought  how  soon  they  would  be 
gone,  and  has  asked  with  a  desponding  sigh,  "  What  have 
I  to  live  for  ?" 

The  true  followers  of  Jesus  Christ  are  raised  at  once  above 
the  vacuity  and  inanity  which  characterize  a  life  spent  with- 
out God.  Their  Master  did  not  leave  the  world  without 
giving  them  something  to  do.  Something,  at  once  pleasant, 
and  useful,  and  ennobling.  It  is  pleasant,  because  it  interests 
all  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  and  carries  the  soul  on  to  peace- 
ful, but  rich  enjoyments,  of  the  very  highest  character.  It 
is  useful ;  it  seeks  directly  the  highest  good,  aiming  at  happi- 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  275 

The  work  of  a  Christian.  Means  of  doing  it.  Holy  life. 

ness  present  and  future,  and  attaching  its  own  proper  share 
of  importance  to  every  means  of  attaining  it.  It  is  enno- 
hling  ;  for  it  sinks  all  the  base  passions  of  selfishness  and  sin, 
it  breaks  over  the  barriers  and  limits  of  time  and  sense,  and 
expands  the  views  and  widens  the  field  of  effort, — and  by 
linking  man  with  God,  in  one  great  and  common  enterprise, 
it  raises  him  almost  out  of  the  sphere  of  human  action,  and 
gives  him  an  employment  eternal  in  duration,  and  unbounded 
in  the  wide-spread  extension  of  its  aims. 

The  work  which  Christ  has  given  us  to  do  is  the  promo- 
tion of  his  kingdom  here  ;  and  it  is  the  work  of  all .  If  there 
is  any  thing  clearly  asserted  in  the  New  Testament  it  is  that 
the  followers  of  the  Savior  are  not  their  own,  but  his  ;  that 
they  are  bought  with  a  price,  and  are  bound  to  be  devoted 
to  their  Maker's  service.  The  great  work,  too,  which  in  his 
service  they  are  called  upon  to  perform,  is  establishing  and 
spreading  the  reign  of  holiness  in  this  world  ;  and  it  is  of 
such  fundamental  importance  that  every  Christian  should 
understand  clearly  his  duty  in  this  respect  that  a  chapter 
ought  to  be  devoted  to  it  ;  and  as  it  is  a  subject  which  re- 
lates exclusively  to  personal  duty,  I  shall  adopt  the  form  of 
direct  address  to  my  reader. 

When  you  give  yourself  up  to  the  service  of  Jesus  Christ, 
then,  consider  how  much  is  meant  by  it.  It  involves,  among 
other  things  which  have  already  been  considered,  devoting 
yourself  to  his  work.  To  bring  men  to  repentance  and  holi- 
ness was  the  work  of  his  life  ;  if  you  follow  him,  then,  it 
must  be  yours.  This  point,  however,  was  considered  more 
fully  in  a  preceding  chapter.  Our  object  is  now  not  to  en- 
force the  duty,  but  to  show  rather  by  what  means  it  is  to  be 
performed.     These  we  shall  consider  in  order. 

I. A  HOLY  LIFE. 

The  most  direct  and  powerful  means  of  promoting  the 


276  THE    CORKER-STONE. 


Two  kinda  of  influence.  The  salt  of  the  earth. 

Savior's  kingdom,  is  the  vigorous  cultivation  of  your  own 
growth  in  grace.  There  is  a  great  tendency  among  Chris- 
tians to  look  too  much  away  from  themselves,  and  to  suppose 
that  they  are  to  do  good  to  their  fellow-rtien  by  bustling 
efforts,  bearing  directly  upon  them,  without  the  light  of  a 
high  and  consistent  and  unsullied  example  of  holiness.  "  Ye 
are  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  said  our  Savior,  and  the  very  ex- 
pressive metaphor  seems  to  imply  that  Christianity  is  to  in- 
fluence mankind  not  so  much  by  its  outward  and  open  tri- 
umphs in  the  world,  as  by  the  silent  and  unseen,  and  yet 
most  powerful  operation  of  its  principles,  in  the  hearts  and 
lives  of  its  professors.  The  thousands  of  individual  Christians 
are  surrounded,  each  in  his  own  little  sphere,  with  a  circle 
upon  whom  they  exert  a  constant  influence.  The  aggre- 
gate of  this  influence  is  immense.  Each  individual,  how- 
ever, is  responsible  only  for  his  own  comparatively  minute 
and  separate  share  ;  but  success  in  securing  it,  in  every  part, 
and  consequently  in  the  whole,  depends  on  personal  Chris- 
tian character. 

To  show  this,  let  us  consider  the  amount  of  influence  of 
two  distinct  kinds,  which  may  be  exerted  by  a  particular 
church.  The  church  consists,  we  will  suppose,  of  a  hundred 
members  ;  and  in  the  daily  business  and  pursuits  of  life,  these 
members  are  connected,  probably,  more  or  less  directly  with 
two  thousand  persons.  That  is,  there  are  two  thousand  per- 
sons, at  least,  who  are  acquainted  with  some  one  or  more  of 
them.  One  kind  of  influence,  then,  exerted  by  these  Chris- 
tians is,  that  of  their  private  character  and  conduct,  and  the 
spirit  manifested  in  their  dealings,  as  they  affect  these  two 
thousand.  Again,  they  are  interested,  we  will  suppose,  in 
the  spread  of  religion,  and  they  contribute  a  considerable  sum 
of  money  to  circulate  Bibles  or  tracts,  or  to  support  mission- 
aries in  foreign  lands.  Now  the  point  is,  that  the  former, 
namely,  the  private  influence,  exerted  over  those  with  whom 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  277 


Duties  to  ourselves.  Common  danger.  Looking  to  others. 

they  come  into  immediate  connection,  is  far  more  important 
than  the  other.  It  is  this  kind  of  influence  which  is  more 
frequently  spoken  of  in  the  New  Testament  than  the  other  ; 
and  if  the  church  felt  the  importance  of  it,  and  universally 
acted  accordingly,  the  Gospel  would  make  far  more  rapid 
progress  in  the  world  than  it  now  does.  The  reader  will 
see  in  the  sequel  that  I  do  not  mean  to  undervalue  the  second 
mode  of  promoting  Christ's  kingdom.  It  should  have  its 
proper  place  ;  but  the  first  and  great  duty  of  every  Christian 
is  to  see  that  his  own  heart  is  right,  and  that  the  light  of 
the  glory  of  God  shines  in  all  his  private  conduct. 

And  yet  this  is  very  often  forgotten.  The  heart,  deceitful 
and  hard  toward  God,  loves  to  forget  it.  We  seek  moral 
renewal  for  ourselves,  and  we  feel,  at  first,  a  strong  interest 
in  our  Maker's  service  ;  but  the  world  comes  in  again  and 
gets  the  victory  ;  and  since  we  do  not  like  to  renew  the  pain- 
ful struggle  necessary  to  overthrow  it  once  more,  we  leave 
ourselves,  and  endeavor  to  quiet  conscience  by  activity  in  our 
efforts  to  save  others  from  their  sins.  Our  pride  is  gratified 
by  the  thought  that  we  stand  on  safer  and  better  ground 
than  those  for  whom  we  labor,  and  there  are  many  other 
worldly  feelings  that  we  gratify,  in  devising  and  executing 
our  plans.  In  the  mean  time  our  own  hearts  remain  cold 
and  dead  ;  our  petitions  become  feeble,  our  prayers  formal ; 
desires  for  real  spiritual  blessings  for  our  own  souls  are  gone, 
and  we  work  industriously,  with  the  pretense  of  endeavoring 
to  procure  for  others  what  we  do  not  really  desire  for  our- 
selves. 

This  must  not  be  so,  if  we  wish  to  do  any  good  to  the 
cause  of  Christ.  We  must  look  within,  and  seek  first  to 
eradicate  our  own  sins,  and  have  our  own  hearts  right.  We 
should  pray  for  spiritual  blessings  for  ourselves,  and  see  that 
we  do  it  sincerely.  Many  and  many  a  night  when  the 
Christian  kneels  for  his  evening  prayers,  he  can  not  honestly 


276  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Watching  one's  self.  Common  way  of  evading  duty. 

ask  God  to  come  and  be  with  him.  The  world  has  full  pos- 
session ;  and  if  he  prays  in  words  that  God  would  come  and 
break  its  chains,  it  is  with  a  secret  wish  that  he  may  not  be 
heard.  If  we  examine  ourselves  with  careful  scrutiny,  we 
shall  often  find  that  this  is  really  the  case.  The  Christian, 
therefore,  who  wishes  to  be  at  his  post,  and  to  act  efficiently 
for  his  Master,  should  pray  for  himself,  and  see  that  he  can 
pray  honestly. 

Again,  he  should  watch  himself.  We  are  all  far  more 
willing  to  watch  one  another  than  to  watch  ourselves.  It  is 
easier,  and  more  pleasant  to  see  the  faults  of  others  than  our 
own.  We  like  to  think  of  the  obstinacy,  and  ingratitude, 
and  folly  of  those  that  are  entirely  without  God  in  the  world, 
far  better  than  to  see  the  same  qualities  in  ourselves.  Now 
there  is,  unquestionably,  such  a  fault  as  turning  our  thoughts 
too  exclusively  to  ourselves.  Many  persons  err  in  this  way, 
and  to  them,  advice  contrary  to  this  should  be  given.  But 
such  cases  are  rare.  The  mass  of  Christians,  especially  in 
this  busy  age,  are  far  more  inclined  to  be  watchful  over  all 
their  neighbors,  than  over  themselves,  and  especially  to  see 
the  hardness  of  heart,  and  the  base  ingratitude  exhibited  by 
sinners,  while  they  entirely  overlook  their  own. 

Once  more  ;  we  should  labor  for  our  own  spiritual  good. 
In  religious  action,  the  natural  law  in  respect  to  selfishness 
seems  to  be  reversed.  We  are  far  more  ready  to  toil  for 
others,  than  for  ourselves  ;  we  had  rather  that  they  would 
repent,  than  that  we  ourselves  should  grow  in  grace  ; — we 
prefer  buying  and  distributing  a  dozen  tracts  for  the  unre- 
generate,  to  reading  attentively  and  prayerfully  a  treatise 
designed  to  promote  our  own  progress  in  holiness. 

This  is  not  surprising,  though  it  is  very  wrong.  Unhappi- 
ly for  us,  moral  renovation  leaves  sin  in  our  hearts,  wounded, 
indeed,  but  very  imperfectly  subdued  ;  and  this  is  one  of  the 
forms,  which,  forever  deceitful,  it  continually  assumes  ;  but 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  279 

Influence  of  personal  holiness.  Influence  of  action. 

it  must  not  be  so.  The  best  way  to  spread  religion,  is  to 
exemplify  it.  A  pure  church  is  the  most  powerful  army  ; 
the  Christian  armor  consists  of  the  Christian  graces,  and  it 
is  with  these,  that  victories  really  valuable  are  alone  to  be 
won. 

But  it  is  not  my  intention  here,  to  point  out  the  means  of 
growing  in  grace,  but  only  to  bring  to  view  the  importance 
of  a  high  standard  of  personal  holiness  among  believers,  as  a 
means  of  spreading  the  religion  of  the  Savior.  There  is  a 
great  tendency  to  look  with  too  exclusive  an  interest  at  the 
public  movements  of  the  church  in  its  efforts  to  extend  its 
boundaries,  while  the  far  more  powerful  influences  which 
might  be  exerted  by  piety  and  holiness  within,  are  compara- 
tively neglected.  The  interest  felt,  however,  in  the  public 
movements  of  the  church,  is  not  yet  half  what  it  ought  to  be. 
I  do  not  wish  to  depress  the  one,  but  to  raise  the  other.  In 
fact  they  generally  go  hand  in  hand.  Right  efforts,  made  in 
the  right  spirit,  are  among  the  very  best  means  of  promoting 
piety  and  spiritual  progress,  in  the  individual  who  makes 
them  ;  there  is  a  sort  of  reflex  action  that  brings  to  his  own 
heart,  the  blessings  which  he  seeks  to  bring  down  upon 
others.  But  to  accomplish  this  object,  they  must  be  right 
efforts,  made  in  the  right  spirit :  and  here  is  the  danger. 

In  fact  there  is  no  question  that  a  man  may  be  led  to  the 
most  vigorous  efforts  to  promote  the  cause  of  religion  from 
motives  which  are  altogether  distinct  from  those  which  the 
Savior  requires.  Self-interest,  party  spirit,  love  of  honor, 
spiritual  pride,  and  a  thousand  other  motives  animate  a  vast 
proportion  of  the  zeal  which  is  professedly  expended  in  the 
cause  of  Christ.  One  man,  a  professor  of  religion,  and  in 
fact  a  sincere  Christian,  is  very  much  engaged  in  promoting 
the  building  of  a  church.  The  cause  of  Christ,  he  thinks, 
requires  it  So  it  does,  and  so  will  the  value  of  his  property 
be  increased  by  its  being  placed  in  his  vicinity  ;  and  it  will 


280  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Doable  motives.  Bad  principles  cultivated  by  religious  acts. 

require  a  great  deal  of  careful  self-examination,  for  him  to 
ascertain  in  precisely  what  proportion  these  two  motives  act 
upon  him.  In  fact,  if  a  destroying  angel  were  commissioned 
to  pass  over  our  land,  and  apply  the  torch  to  every  church 
which  pride,  or  interest,  or  love  of  honor  had  erected,  and 
leave  those  only  which  are  the  monuments  of  sincere  and 
honest  love  to  the  Savior,  we  fear  that  the  smoke  of  a  great 
many  conflagrations  would  ascend. 

In  the  same  manner,  a  minister  will  be  active  and  ardent 
in  his  efforts  to  awaken  religious  interest  among  his  people ; 
or,  an  author  may  write  a  book,  ostensibly  to  give  religious 
instruction.  Now  they  both  may  be  led  forward  in  their 
work  by  a  desire  to  do  good ;  but  it  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  the  very  same  success  which  accomplishes  good  for  the 
cause,  brings  honor  to  the  laborer  ;  and  many  an  enterprising 
and  zealous  workman  will  find,  if  he  looks  honestly  at  his 
heart,  that  the  worldly  feeling  has  far  more  than  its  fair 
share  in  the  work. 

It  is  the  same  with  all  the  open  and  active  means  of 
endeavoring  to  promote  the  Savior's  cause.  There  is  so 
much  mingling  of  motives  in  them,  that  it  is  difficult  to  tell, 
in  many  cases,  whether  the  natural  or  the  renewed  feelings 
are  most  cultivated  by  such  efforts.  If  these  things  are  done 
in  the  right  spirit,  they  cultivate  that  spirit ; — and  on  the 
other  hand,  the  feelings  which  prompt  them  are  strengthened, 
if  they  are  wrong.  Bad  passions  as  well  as  good  thrive  under 
the  influence  of  indulgence,  and  consequently  the  very  same 
act,  such  as  contributing  money  for  any  religious  or  charita- 
ble purpose,  may  be  the  means  of  awakening  and  cherishing 
in  the  heart  of  the  Christian  who  makes  it,  love  to  God,  and 
a  warm  desird  for  the  salvation  of  men.  It  may  wean  him 
from  the  world,  and  link  him  to  his  Savior  by  a  bond  closer 
than  before.  On  the  other  hand,  it  may  give  the  reins  to 
selfishness  and  passion,  and  banish  spiritual  peace  and  joy, 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  281 

Influence  of  the  heart  greater  than  that  of  the  conduct. 

and  bring  back  the  soul  very  far  in  its  sad  return  to  the 
dominion  of  sin. 

It  is  therefore  unsafe  to  depend,  as  too  many  do,  on  mere 
Christian  action,  for  their  growth  in  grace.  It  is  sometimes 
unquestionably  wise,  to  turn  the  thoughts  of  some  dejected 
desponding  Christian  away  from  himself,  in  the  hope  that  he 
may  find  cheerfulness  and  enjoyment  in  doing  work  for  his 
Master.  It  is,  in  many  cases,  the  very  best  advice  which 
can  be  given.  Still  those  instances,  though  many  in  the 
aggregate,  are  individually  rare.  In  all  ordinary  cases,  the 
great  danger  is  the  other  way, — of  going  out  of  ourselves, 
and  seeking  to  win  God's  favor  by  outward  diligence  and 
zeal — what  we  call  Christian  action, — while  the  passions  of 
the  heart  remain  unsubdued,  and  its  recesses  of  hidden  guilt 
unexplored.  It  is  a  great  deal  easier,  with  hearts  such  as 
ours,  to  give  money,  or  to  erect  a  church,  or  to  exhort  in  a 
religious  assembly,  or  to  write  good  advice  for  others,  than  to 
come  and  humble  our  own  selves,  and  to  crucify  the  flesh 
with  its  affections  and  lusts. 

The  advantage  of  making  more  direct  and  special  efforts 
to  induce  Christians  to  cultivate  the  right  spirit  of  piety,  than 
to  induce  them  to  go  forward  in  Christian  action,  is  manifest 
from  the  consideration  that  warm  piety  in  the  heart  will 
almost  spontaneously  go  forth  into  Christian  action,  whether 
you  urge  it  on  or  not :  but  the  most  uninterrupted  and  ener- 
getic Christian  action  will  not  necessarily  produce  the  right 
state  of  heart.  It  may  only  foster  and  strengthen  the  bad 
principles  of  action  from  which  it  springs.  Besides,  the  light 
of  a  pure  and  honest  Christian  character  must  of  itself  do 
good  among  men.  It  exerts  an  influence  which  they  can  not 
but  feel,  and  it  is  an  influence  far  more  powerful  than  any 
other.  Suppose  we  could  station  in  any  community  in  our 
country,  a  little  band  oi  perfect  Christians,  and  leave  them 
there,  merely  as  specimens  of  the  practical  effects  of  Chris- 


282  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Holy  example.  Unholy  example.  The  latter  common. 

tianity.  Connect  them  by  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  business 
with  the  mass  of  society,  but  cut  them  ofi^,  if  you  please,  from 
all  opportunity  to  make  direct  efforts  to  inculcate  the  princi- 
ples of  religion  upon  others.  What  an  effect  their  simple 
presence  would  produce  I  Pure,  holy,  harmless  and  unde- 
filed,  weaned  entirely  from  this  world,  and  living  entirely  for 
another.  Hearts  warm  with  love  to  God,  and  ardent  affec- 
tion for  one  another,  and  untiring  benevolence  toward  all 
around  them  ;  selfishness  gone, — pride,  censoriousness,  resent- 
ment, all  gone ;  and  instead  of  the  base  passions  of  human 
nature,  the  whole  soul  filled  with  the  noble  and  generous 
and  exalted  sentiments  which  Christianity  tends  to  inspire. 
What  an  influence  would  be  exerted  by  such  a  church,  even 
if  the  members  of  it  were  deprived  of  all  those  means  of 
influence  on  which  we  ordinarily  depend  ;  and  how  different 
would  it  be  in  its  nature,  from  that  which  is  now  too  often 
exerted  in  the  towns  and  villages  of  our  land,  by  those  who 
have  in  charge  the  cause  of  the  Savior  there.  The  minister, 
cold  and  heartless, — close  and  selfish  in  his  dealings  during 
the  week, — and  then  preaching,  on  the  Sabbath,  in  the  per- 
formance of  a  dull  routine  of  duty,  or  to  gratify  the  vanity 
of  rhetorical  or  theological  display  ; — the  father,  worldly  and 
selfish, — devoted,  with  his  whole  soul,  to  the  work  of  making 
a  fortune, — and  now  and  then  adding  his  name  to  a  subscrip- 
tion, to  keep  up  his  credit  as  a  benevolent  man,  or  perhaps 
to  be  relieved  of  unpleasant  importunity  ; — and  a  mother, 
scolding  and  fretting  among  her  children  and  domestics  all 
the  morning,  and  then  decking  her  face  in  assumed  and 
heartless  smiles,  or  in  an  expression  of  affected  solemnity,  to 
go  to  a  religious  or  charitable  meeting  in  the  afternoon.  My 
description  may  seem  unnecessarily  severe  :  I  hope  it  is  so. 
At  all  events,  one  thing  is  certain,  that  Christians  can  not 
hope  thai  God  will  bless  them,  and  prosper  his  cause  in  their 
hearts,  unless  their  hearts  are  right,  and  their  efforts  in  his 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  283 

Personal  influence.  Its  value  as  a  means  of  doing  good. 

service  are  made  from  honest  dessires  to  promote  their  Savior's 
cause.  And  this  will  not  be  the  case,  unless  the  spirit  of 
religion,  which  is  the  spirit  of  peace,  love  and  joy,  reign 
habitually  and  incessantly  at  home,  as  well  as  abroad, — in 
retirement  as  well  as  in  public  :  and  if  it  really  exists,  it  will 
show  itself  as  certainly  in  the  tone  and  manner  with  which 
we  speak  to  our  children,  or  bear  the  little  trials  of  every-day 
life,  as  in  the  most  public  acts  performed  in  the  face  of  the 
world. 

If,  then,  you  wish.  Christian,  to  do  any  thing  effectual  for 
the  Savior,  look  within  :  labor  first  and  most  constantly  with 
your  own  heart,  so  that  the  light  of  pure  religion  may  beam 
in  beauty  and  gentleness  there.  The  world  around  will  see 
and  feel  its  moral  power.  Many  will  he  led  by  it,  to  the 
fountain  which  has  purified  you  ;  they  will  follow  your  ex- 
ample, they  will  imbibe  your  spirit ;  and  thus,  while  coming 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Savior  yourself,  you  will  in  the  most 
effectual  manner  extend  his  kingdom. 

II. PERSONAL    INFLUENCE. 

Aim  at  acquiring  as  strong  a  personal  influence  as  possible 
over  others.  We  put  this  next  to  the  work  of  securing  your 
own  progress  in  holiness,  because  we  really  believe  it  stands 
next.  The  man  whose  own  heart  is  right  toward  God,  and 
who  has  a  strong  influence  over  others,  must  inevitably  do  a 
great  deal  toward  promoting  the  Savior's  cause.  He  may  in 
many  cases  mistake  ;  he  may  work  to  disadvantage  ;  but  he 
has  the  essentials,  and  to  a  great  extent  he  must  succeed. 
But  let  us  explain  what  we  mean  by  personal  influence. 

Here  are  two  Christians  equally  devoted  to  their  Master's 
cause.  One,  however,  feels  that  next  to  his  responsibility  for 
his  own  personal  character,  his  highest  trust  is  his  direct  in- 
fluence over  others.  This  influence  he  will  steadily  endeavor 
both  to  preserve  and  to  increase.     In  all  his  intercourse  with 


284  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  contrast  Repulsive  piety.  Its  bad  influence. 

others  he  endeavors  to  acquire  their  good-will.  To  find  his 
way  to  their  hearts,  his  benevolence  is  active,  practical, 
operating  at  all  times,  and  diffusing  enjoyment  all  around 
him.  He  has  regard  for  the  rights  and  feelings  of  others,  as 
well  as  for.  his  own.  He  sympathizes  with  the  difficulties 
and  trials  of  those  who  are  connected  with  him  ;  and  thus, 
independently  of  the  light  which  his  character  sheds  around 
him,  he  is  the  object  of  strong  personal  regard. 

The  other  is  a  very  different  man.  He  cultivates  the  spirit 
of  piety,  and  bewails  his  sins  before  God.  He  is  ready  to 
make  even  great  sacrifices  to  do  good,  whenever  the  oppor- 
tunity presents :  but  in  all  the  thousand  little  connections 
which  bind  him  to  society,  he  seems  morose  and  stern.  The 
ordinary  kindnesses  and  courtesies  of  life,  he  never  exhibits. 
He  reserves  his  charity  for  masses  of  men,  and  his  benevo- 
lence for  great  occasions.  In  all  the  ordinary  dealings,  in 
which  he  becomes  connected  from  day  to  day  with  his 
fellows,  he  is  harsh  and  unconciliating ;  firm  in  the  defense 
of  all  his  rights,  and  inflexible  in  resisting  every  injury.  He 
means  to  do  what  is  right ;  but  on  the  line  which  his  eye 
marks  out  as  the  line  of  rectitude,  he  stands  firm  and  per- 
pendicular. He  ought  to  stand  thus  on  the  line  of  rectitude 
in  respect  to  moral  principle,  but  not  on  that  of  justice  in 
regard  to ''his  own  interests.  He  never  sympathizes  with 
those  who  are  dependent  upon  him.  They  find  that  he  does 
not  think  of  their  temptations,  or  feel  for  the  trials  which 
they  have  to  bear.  If  they  are  sick,  he  relieves  their  wants 
perhaps  with  cold  propriety,  but  gives  no  evidence  of  com- 
passion, or  of  real  good- will. 

Now  with  the  same  degree  of  piety,  if  it  is  possible  for  the 
piety  to  be  the  same  in  two  such  cases,  and  with  the  same 
degree  of  wealth,  and  with  the  same  influence  of  standing, 
how  different  will  be  the  amount  of  service  which  these  two 
individuals  can  render  to  their  Master.     The  one  is  connect- 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  28t* 

The  fault  generally  Incurable.  Unsound  logic 

ed,  by  the  closest  ties,  to  many  human  hearts  ;  and  his  senti- 
ments, his  feelings,  his  spirit  are  insensibly  and  continually 
adopted  by  all  around  him.  His  light  shines  and  allures. 
The  other  not  only  can  do  no  good,  but  is  constantly  though 
insensibly  doing  harm.  The  world  around  consider  his  char- 
acter as  illustrating  the  natural  tendencies  of  religion.  Many 
cases  have  occurred  where  a  Christian  of  wealth  and  public 
influence  has  had  such  a  character  that  a  whole  community 
has  been  seared  in  conscience,  and  alienated  from  the  truth, 
by  the  associations  which  such  a  spectacle  constantly  before 
their  eyes  has  led  them  to  form.  They  would  have  disliked 
the  purity  and  spirituality  of  religion  in  some  degree  perhaps 
without  this,  but  they  are  led  by  it  to  dishke  them  still  more. 
They  are  thus  driven  farther  and  farther  away  from  God,  by 
means  of  the  influence  of  one  of  his  friends. 

Such  characters,  too,  when  once  formed,  seem  to  be  incur- 
able ;  for  as  every  mad  projector  defends  himself  against  the 
most  convincing  proof  of  the  wildness  and  impracticability  of 
his  schemes,  by  recollecting  the  opposition  and  incredulity 
which  Columbus  had  to  contend  with,  so  do  these  Christians 
consider  every  difficulty  which  they  incur,  and  every  feeling 
of  opposition  which  they  awaken  in  others,  as  proofs  of  their 
fidelity  in  the  cause  of  their  Master.  "  He  that  lives  godly, 
will  suffer  persecution,"  says  the  apostle  ;  but  they  read  it 
the  other  way.  All  that  suffer  persecution  must  certainly 
be  godly.  Not  very  sound  logic,  the  impartial  reader  will 
say ;  but  any  logic  is  sound  enough  to  convince,  when  it  is 
offered  by  interest  or  pride. 

It  is  the  duty  then  of  every  individual,  who  wishes  to  obey 
the  Savior's  dying  command,  and  in  obedience  to  it,  to  assist 
his  Master  in  spreading  the  reign  of  piety  among  men,  to 
take  care  of  his  personal  influence. 

A  very  large  number  of  the  readers  of  this  work  will  how- 
ever, in  all  probability,  attempt  to  place  themselves  out  of 


2&6  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Supposed  want  of  influence.  Extent  and  power  of  influence. 

the  reach  of  all  these  remarks,  by  saying  to  themselves : 
"  This  is  all  very  true,  but  it  does  not  apply  to  me.  I  have 
no  influence,  and  from  the  very  circumstances  in  which 
Providence  has  placed  me,  I  can  not  have  any." 

While  such  readers  have  been  perusing  the  preceding  par- 
agraphs, their  thoughts  have  been  fixed  upon  some  influential 
individuals  whom  they  could  call  to  mind,  and  they  have  con- 
sidered these  remarks  as  applicable  only  to  them,  or  to  persons 
placed  like  them  in  stations  of  trust  and  responsibility  in  the 
service  of  God.  Perhaps  some  one  who  reads  this  may  wish 
he  could  apply  the  remarks  to  himself  Sometimes,  perhaps,  iu 
your  hour  of  devotion,  when  your  heart  is  warmed  by  reflect- 
ing what  the  Savior  has  done  for  you,  you  sigh  to  reflect  how 
little  you  can  do  in  return.  You  wish  that  you  had  some 
public  or  general  influence  which  you  might  devote  to  the 
cause  of  the  Savior.  But  you  are  alone  ;  your  sphere  of"  duty 
is  limited  to  the  little  spot  in  which  you  move  from  day  to 
day,  with  very  little  influence  over  other  minds ;  so  that 
even  when  you  wish  to  do  good,  it  seems  scarcely  in  your 
power. 

This  feeling  is  one  which  very  extensively  prevails ;  but 
it  is  founded  upon  an  entire  mistake,  in  regard  to  the  nature 
of  the  influence  which  may  be  made  most  valuable  for  the 
purpose  of  promoting  the  Savior's  cause.  You  think  that 
you  have  no  influence.  You  have  on  the  contrary,  in  fact, 
a  very  powerful  influence.  It  is  not  extensive,  but  it  is  power- 
ful, and  this  distinction  you  overlook.  Let  us  consider  it  a 
little. 

The  chief  magistrate  of  a  populous  city  has  an  extensive 
influence.  It  reaches  a  great  many  minds.  His  plans  and 
his  measures  promote  or  injure  the  interests  of  thousands. 
They  are  discussed,  and  approved  or  condemned,  in  many  a 
little  group,  and  thus,  out  of  all  the  multitudes  around  him, 
there  are  very  few  who  do  not  know  his  name  at  least,  if 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  287 

The  chief  magistrate.  The  two  friends.  Mutual  influence. 

they  do  not  hear  of  his  domgs.  The  influence  of  what 
passes  in  that  one  man's  mind  extends,  in  this  way,  to  tens  of 
thousands.  But,  after  all,  this  official  influence  is  not  very 
powerful  in  any  individual  case.  In  the  aggregate,  it  is  very 
powerful, — but  it  is  an  aggregate  made  up  of  very  small 
items.  Select  from  among  the  multitudes  with  whom  he  is 
daily  thrown  into  connection,  the  one  to  whom  he  is  bound 
most  closely, — over  whom  he  has  the  greatest  ascendency ; 
and  how  great  an  ascendency  is  it  ?  Why,  it  is  a  tie  of 
business.  It  is  the  influence  of  a  slight  interest  in  common, 
and  the  chain  will  remain  just  so  long  as  the  business  and 
the  common  interest  retain  their  hold.  The  power  of  heart 
over  heart,  in  such  a  case,  is  very  small.  The  man,  from 
the  eminence  on  which  he  is  placed,  holds  a  slight  control,  a 
feeble  influence,  over  many  thousands.  We  gaze  at  the  great- 
ness of  it,  in  amount,  and  forget  how  feeble  it  is  in  detail. 
The  very  child,  returning  from  school  with  the  companion  of 
his  studies  and  his  plays,  holds  an  ascendency  and  control 
over  the  heart,  to  a  degree  which  the  statesman  or  the 
magistrate  never  obtains.  Now,  it  is  influence  over  the 
heart,  which  is  most  effectual  in  making  friends  for  the 
Savior. 

Suppose  that  two  obscure  and  solitary  individuals  live  to- 
gether in  a  retired  dwelling  among  the  mountains.  Their 
pursuits,  their  interests,  their  joys,  and  sorrows  are  common. 
If  one  is  cheerful  and  happy,  the  light  of  her  smile  is  reflected 
upon  the  countenance  of  the  other.  If  one  is  gloomy  or  im- 
patient, or  sad,  the  sympathy  which  years  have  cherished, 
transfers  the  emotion  to  the  bosom  of  the  other.  However 
dissimilar  in  disposition  and  character  they  may  have  been 
in  youth,  every  difference  is  gradually  diminished  or  destroyed. 
They  come  to  be  interested  in  the  same  pursuits,  to  fear  the 
same  evils,  and  to  have  every  wish  and  every  emotion  com- 
mon.    This  process  of  assimilation  goes  on  till  the  last, — and 


288 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Powerful  but.  not  extensive. 


THE   FRIKNDS. 


when  one  of  them  at  length  lies  down  in  the  grave,  the 
other  is  left  to  mourn  the  loss,  with  a  feeling  of  irretriev- 
ahle  bereavement,  to  which  human  life  can  hardly  afford  a 
parallel. 

This,  now,  is  a  powerful  influence  ; — but  it  is  not  an  ex- 
tensive one.  The  influence  of  each  could  extend  only  to  the 
other.  The  world  around  was  nothing  to  them.  And  what 
is  peculiar  in  this  case  is,  that  the  greatness  of  the  ascend- 
ency would  depend,  most  of  all,  upon  the  very  fact  that  the  rest 
of  mankind  were  removed  beyond  their  reach.  The  fact  that 
they  were  nothing  to  all  the  world,  was  the  very  reason 
why  they  were  so  much  to  one  another.  And  it  is  so  with 
\Vi  all.  The  more  a  man's  influence  is  extended  and  diffused, 
th  3  more  is  it  ordinarily  weakened,  in  its  bearing  upon  indi- 
viduals.    The  public  officer,  who  reaches  a  hundred  thou- 


THE  PARTING  COMMAND.  289 


The  child  and  his  little  brother.  The  Christian  laborer. 

sand  minds,  reaches  them  all  feebly  ;  and  if  you  wish  to  find 
an  example  of  the  highest  power  exerted  by  one  heart  over 
another,  you  must  seek  it  in  the  case  of  some  one  secluded 
from  the  world,  and  engaged  in  a  round  of  duties  which 
bring  him  into  contact  with  but  few. 

We  may  go  farther  than  this,  and  say  that  there  is  scarce- 
ly an  example  of  influence  to  be  found,  so  powerful  as  that 
exerted  by  a  little  child  just  old  enough  to  talk,  over  his 
little  brother  or  sister  a  year  or  two  younger  than  himself. 
He  is  in  all  things  its  leader,  and  guide,  and  oracle  ;  with 
perhaps  more  power  over  its  heart,  than  the  world  exhibits 
in  any  other  case.  The  little  learner  follows  and  imitates  its 
superior  in  almost  every  thing.  He  goes  wherever  his  com- 
panion leads, — and  mimics  all  his  actions, — and  repeats,  in 
his  imperfect  and  broken  articulation,  all  his  words  ;  and  he 
is  thus  led  forward  to  almost  all  his  knowledge,  and  guided, 
in  almost  the  whole  formation  of  his  character,  by  a  child, 
only  a  little  older  than  himself,  and  who  is  almost  entirely 
unconscious  of  the  influence  which  he  is  thus  exerting  over 
an  immortal  mind. 

Such  is  the  distinction  between  the  extent,  and  the  indi- 
vidual power  of  influence,  and  it  does  not  require  much  rea- 
soning to  show  which  is  most  efficient  as  a  means  of  promot- 
ing the  salvation  of  souls.  Piety  is  a  feeling  of  the  heart, 
and  he  who  would  promote  it,  must  gain  access  to  the  heart. 
Consequently,  the  more  direct  the  access  in  the  individual 
case,  the  greater  is  the  prospect  of  success.  A  Christian 
laborer  who  is  employed  day  after  day  by  an  irreligious  man, 
has  a  far  greater  influence  over  him  in  a  religious  point  of 
view,  than  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  country  can  have. 
The  laborer  must  have  a  great  influence  in  the  formation  of 
the  religious  character  of  his  employer.  If  he  is  gentle  and 
benevolent,  and  of  unbending  integrity  and  faithfulness,  and 
if  it  appears  that  these  traits  of  character  spring  from  his 

N 


290  THE    CORNER-STONE 


None  too  young  to  do  good.  Influence  over  brothers  and  sisters. 

Christian  principle,  tlie  example  thus  set  will  speak  with  an 
eloquence  which  words  can  seldom  equal. 

Perhaps  this  chapter  is  read  by  some  one  who  has  been  ac- 
customed to  consider  himself  too  young  to  do  any  good.  You 
look  around  you,  and  see  others  enjoying  opportunities  of 
making  direct  efforts  in  the  Savior's  cause,  and  you  think  that 
if  you  should  enjoy  such  a  privilege,  you  would  highly  prize 
it.  "  Had  I  but  a  class  in  a  Sabbath-school,"  you  say,  "  how 
happy  should  I  be  to  endeavor  to  lead  my  pupils  to  the 
Savior." 

You  have  not,  indeed,  a  class  in  the  Sabbath-school,  but 
you  have  a  little  sister  who  is  infinitely  more  under  your  in- 
fluence than  any  class  of  Sabbath-school  children  could  be. 
You  would  see  the  class  only  on  the  Sabbath,  and  then  but 
for  an  hour, — ^that  too,  in  a  crowded  room,  and  among  mul- 
titudes of  strangers.  Your  brother  and  your  sister,  however, 
are  with  you  every  day.  They  come  to  you  for  assistance  in 
a  thousand  difficulties,  and  for  guidance  in  all  their  per- 
plexities and  cares.  You  can  see  them  at  all  times  ;  you  can 
watch  for  opportunities  to  interest  and  attract  them  ;  you 
can  help  them  to  forsake  their  sins,  and  to  watch  against 
temptation,  by  being  at  all  times  at  hand ;  and,  above  all, 
you  can  set  them  a  constant  example  of  the  power  of  piety 
in  making  your  own  conduct  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  your 
own  heart  peaceful  and  happy.  Now  the  inffuence  which 
you  thus  may  possess  is  altogether  greater  than  you  could  have 
as  a  Sabbath-school  teacher.  It  is  not  so  extensive,  but  it  is 
more  powerful  in  the  individual  case ;  and  this  is  what  is  to 
be  considered  in  judging  of  the  opportunity  you  have  to  do 
good.  Improve  first  the  little  field  which  Providence  has  put 
BO  entirely  into  your  power,  before  you  look  forward  to 
wider  spheres. 

There  is  not  now  a  Christian  on  the  globe  who  has  not  a 
very  powerful  influence  of  the  kind  which  I  have  described, 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  291 

Every  Christian  has  an  influence.  Effect  of  universal  fidelity. 

over  one,  two,  or  more  minds  around  him.  Providence  has 
placed  us  all  in  connection  with  our  fellow-beings  in  such  a 
way  that  we  must  exert  a  great  influence  upon  the  formation 
of  their  characters.  The  power  which  we  thus  hold  is  far 
greater  than  we  suppose,  and  until  all  within  the  circle  of 
our  acquaintance,  however  narrow  that  circle  may  be,  are 
devoted  and  happy  Christians,  we  must  never  say,  and  never 
feel  that  God  has  placed  us  in  circumstances  in  which  we 
have  nothing  to  do  for  him. 

It  is  on  these  principles,  and  for  such  purposes,  that  every 
individual  Christian  should  labor  to  deepen  and  extend  the 
influence  in  his  hands  ;  and  it  is  by  means  of  this,  mainly, 
that  he  is  to  aim  at  building  up  the  Savior's  kingdom.  If 
every  one  would  be  faithful,  in  the  sphere  in  which  Provi- 
dence has  placed  him,  the  most  astonishing  effects  would  be 
immediately  witnessed.  Suppose  that  every  Christian  were 
to  come  up  at  once  to  his  duty  as  a  follower  of  Christ,  re- 
nounce the  world  entirely,  search  his  heart,  and  cultivate,  by 
every  means  in  his  power,  his  own  spiritual  progress, — and 
then  devote  himself  to  the  work  of  doing  good  in  the  narrow 
sphere  of  his  own  personal  influence.  There  would  be  no 
splendid  conquests  achieved  by  any  one  ;  but  by  the  united 
efforts  of  all,  the  work  would  go  on  with  universal  and  almost 
inconceivable  power.  No  one  who  knows  the  effect  of  holi- 
ness, when  it  appears  in  living  and  acting  reality,  in  arrest- 
ing attention  and  alarming  the  conscience,  and  in  winning 
those  who  witness  it  to  penitence  and  faith,  can  doubt  that 
each  individual  who  should  thus  live  might  hope  to  be  the 
means  of  bringing  one,  two,  three,  or  four,  every  year,  to  the 
service  of  his  Master  ;  and  to  double  or  treble  or  quadruple 
the  church  in  a  year,  would  be  progress  which  would  soon 
change  the  face  of  things  in  such  a  world  as  this. 

This  is  the  way  undoubtedly,  that  the  principles  of  the 


292  THE    GOllNEK-STOiSfE. 


Future  spread  ot  the  gospel.  Study  of  human  nature. 

gospel  are  ultimately  to  spread  in  the  world,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  the  lives  and  efforts  of  private  Christians.  I  speak 
of  course,  now,  of  those  countries  where  Christianity  has 
nominal  possession.  Private  Christians  look  far  too  much 
away  from  themselves,  to  ministers  and  missionaries,  and 
Bibles  and  tracts, — and  imagine  that  their  business  is  merely 
to  sustain  the  efforts  made  through  these  means.  The  far 
more  valuable  and  powerful  influence,  which  might  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  a  world  lying  in  sin,  from  the  light  of 
religion  in  the  hearts  and  lives  of  the  great  mass  of  believers, 
is  lost  sight  of,  and  forgotten.  But  it  is  the  church  which  is 
the  pillar  and  ground  of  the  truth.  It  is  the  great  mass  of 
disciples,  which  are  the  light  of  the  world.  Or  rather  it  is 
they  who  ought  to  be  ;  for  a  cold  and  worldly  church,  in- 
stead of  being  the  pillar  of  the  truth,  is  a  millstone  about  its 
neck.  Instead  of  casting  around  them  the  beams  of  heav- 
enly light,  its  members  shed  abroad  a  darkness  and  a  gloom 
which  there  is  nothing  to  dispel. 

Be  careful,  then,  not  only  to  watch  your  own  progress  in 
piety,  but  to  seek  influence  over  your  fellow-men, — ^the  influ- 
ence of  heart  over  heart ;  and  as  far  as  you  secure  it,  conse- 
crate it  all  honestly  and  sincerely  to  the  cause  of  Christ. 

m. THE  STUDY  OF  HUMAN  NATURE. 

Carefully  study  the  powers  and  tendencies  of  the  human 
soul,  especially  in  its  religious  aspects,  and  be  prepared  to 
act  intelligently  in  all  that  you  do  in  attempting  to  influence 
the  heart.  Most  sad  mistakes  are  made  in  this  respect,  by 
many  religious  men,  who  make  efforts  blindly,  and  without 
consideration,  as  if  they  imagined  that  religious  truth  was  to 
accomplish  its  object  by  some  mere  mechanical  power  which 
it  possesses,  and  as  if  it  were  of  no  consequence  how  it  is  ap- 
plied. 

In  order  to  avoid  this  evil,  it  is  necessary  to  consider,  be- 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  293 

Mistakes  often  made.  Example  of  Paul.  His  preaching. 

fore  we  attempt  to  act  upon  any  heart,  what  is  the  real  effect 
which  we  wish  to  produce  upon  it,  and  then  to  adapt  our 
means  to  the  production  of  the  effect.  Many  persons  err 
very  widely  in  this  respect.  A  teacher,  for  example,  offers  a 
prize  to  be  awarded  to  the  pupil  who  will  commit  to  memory 
the  greatest  number  of  verses  in  the  Bible.  Emulation  and 
jealous  rivalry  immediately  take  possession  of  the  class,  and 
reign  supreme.  But  the  verses  are  committed.  The  boys 
are  indefatigable  in  their  efforts,  and  if  committing  verses  in 
the  Bible  was  the  ultimate  object  in  view,  and  was  to  be  ac- 
complished at  any  sacrifice,  the  plan  might  be  considered 
triumphantly  successful.  But  committing  passages  of  Scrip- 
ture is  not  the  end  :  it  is  only  the  means  to  an  end.  That 
end  is  the  moral  renewal  of  the  heart,  and  it  is  defeated  en- 
tirely by  the  mode  taken  to  secure  it. 

Again,  a  religious  man  goes  to  converse  with  an  unbe- 
liever. I  do  not  mean  one  who  openly  rejects  Christianity 
as  a  whole,  but  who  denies  its  fundamental  truths,  and  lives 
in  sin,  sheltered  by  his  unbelief  Now  the  proper  object  of 
a  conversation  with  him  is  not  to  convince  his  intellect,  but 
to  awaken  his  conscience.  The  difficulty  is  not  with  the  un- 
derstanding, but  with  the  heart ;  and  instead  of  wasting  time 
in  a  fruitless  attempt,  by  argument,  to  force  upon  his  mind 
evidence  which  he  is  fully  determined  not  to  see,  the  true 
policy  is  to  bring  up,  gently  but  clearly,  questions  of  duty, 
based  on  what  he  admits  to  be  true. 

The  Apostle  Paul  understood  this  principle,  and  practised 
upon  it  most  perfectly.  He  adapted  his  discourses  most 
adroitly  to  the  condition  and  wants  of  his  auditory.  When 
he  reasoned  before  Felix,  it  was  upon  righteousness,  temper- 
ance, and  judgment  to  come  ;  topics  which  his  distinguished 
hearer  could  appreciate  and  understand.  He  based  his  ad- 
dresses to  the  Jews  on  the  sentiments  of  their  own  Scriptures. 
At  Athens  he  endeavored  to  awaken  the  conscience  by  ap- 


294  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Mistakes  of  Christians.         Guides  in  iho  study.         Tlie  Bible.  Observation. 


pealing  to  the  few  simple  truths  which  his  hearers  there 
could  not  deny  ;  and  in  his  epistles  to  the  Christian  church, 
he  went  at  once  into  all  the  sublime  and  mysterious  truths 
which  are  revealed  by' the  full  light  of  the  Christian  dispen- 
sation. He  studied  human  nature,  and  adapted  what  he 
had  to  say  to  the  moral  condition  and  wants  of  those  whom 
he  addressed  ;  always  making  it  his  great  object  to  awaken 
the  slumbering  conscience  by  the  highest  truths  which  his 
audience  were  prepared  to  understand. 

In  their  efforts  to  promote  the  cause  of  religion,  Christians 
often  act  as  if  they  imagined  that  the  great  object  was  to 
bring  truth  before  the  mind,  whereas  the  real  difficulty  is  to 
gain  influence  for  what  is  already  there.  The  work  which 
we  have  to  do  is  to  touch  the  heart,  not  to  pour  cold  light 
upon  the  reason.  Now  to  awaken  warm  feeling  in  the  heart 
is  unquestionably  the  province  of  the  Spirit  of  God. '  We  can 
not  effect  it  alone,  but  we  may  adapt  our  efforts  to  this  de- 
sign, and  at  all  events,  we  may  so  manage  them  as  not  to 
thwart  or  oppose  it.  The  reverse  is  often  the  fact.  Many 
and  many  a  time  is  religious  truth  presented  to  a  mind  in 
such  a  manner,  and  accompanied  by  such  attending  circum- 
stances, as  to  destroy  its  effect.  The  various  ways  by  which 
this  is  done  can  not  in  such  a  chapter  as  this  be  pointed  out. 
What  we  wish  is  to  put  the  Christian  on  his  guard,  that  he 
may  watch  his  plans  and  methods,  and  see  that  he  does  not 
defeat  his  own  designs. 

The  proper  guides,  in  such  a  study  of  the  human  heart, 
are  the  Bible  and  observation,  not  theoretical  books.  Per- 
haps a  very  large  proportion  of  those  who  make  human 
character  a  study  at  all,  go  first  to  theoretical  writers  for 
general  views,  and  then  just  look  into  the  conduct  of  men  for 
the  mere  purpose  of  finding  illustrations  or  proofs  of  them. 
They  never  go  into  the  field  as  independent  observers,  ready 
to  notice  whatever  they  may  see,  and  to  leave  it  to  tell  its 


THE  PARTING  COMMAND.  296 


Books.  Theories.  Theological  notions. 


own  plain  story.  Certain  facts,  which  accord  with  their 
adopted  theories,  stand  out  in  bold  and  prominent  relief, 
while  others  are  overlooked  or  forgotten ;  or  if  they  are  too 
conspicuous  to  be  completely  disregarded,  they  are  warped 
and  twisted  to  suit  the  false  conceptions  of  the  mind.  Such 
a  course*  besides  fixing  error,  is  an  insurmountable  barrier  to 
progress.  We  notice  and  speculate  upon  human  conduct 
just  so  far  as  the  ground  is  covered  by  our  theological  or 
metaphysical  opinions,  and  beyond  that  we  do  not  go. 

Books,  and  the  opinions  of  great  men  on  human  nature, 
may  perhaps  be  guides,  but  they  never  should  be  trammels 
and  barriers.  The  field  of  observation  is  open  before  all ;  and 
Christianity,  while  it  gives  us  the  noblest  work  to  do,  gives 
us  also  the  loftiest  science  to  study.  It  puts,  too,  all  the 
means  and  opportunities  for  observation  fully  before  us,  and 
says  in  spirit,  "  You  have  a  world  of  mind  around  you,  open 
to  your  influence  and  accessible  to  your  observation.  Make 
it  your  great  study  to  understand  it,  and  your  great  work  to 
bring  it  home  to  God." 

In  regard,  however,  to  the  study  of  human  nature,  the 
difiiculty  with  most  persons  is  not  that  they  do  not  make  any 
observations  of  their  own,  but  that  they  do  not  connect  the 
results  which  they  obtain  by  such  observation  with  their 
religious  knowledge.  Most  men  have  in  fact  two  entirely 
distinct  and  independent  sets  of  ideas  in  regard  to  human 
character.  One,  obtained  from  metaphysical  and  theological 
speculations,  and  the  other  from  their  own  intercourse  with 
men  in  the  common  business  and  pursuits  of  life.  These 
two  classes  of  ideas  too,  they  keep  distinct  and  separate.  On 
the  Sabbath,  and  when  reading  religious  books,  or  thinking 
of  the  human  soul  in  its  theological  aspects  and  relations, 
they  take  one  view,  and  in  the  ordinary  business  of  life  they 
take  another  ;  and  the  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  the 
skill  in  influencing  it^  which  men  so  easily  acquire  in  the 


296  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Want  of  skill.  Careful  study  necessary. 

latter  case,  very  rarely  extends  itself  to  the  former.  It 
accordingly  very  often  happens,  that  a  man  will  display  an 
unusual  share  of  discrimination  and  delicacy  of  touch,  so  to 
speak,  in  operating  on  the  minds  around  him  in  respect 
to  the  common  affairs  of  the  community,  or  to  opinions 
and  customs  relating  to  ordinary  life,  while  he  is  awkward, 
rough,  and  unsuccessful  in  every  thing  like  the  exertion  of 
religious  influence.  Here,  he  seems  to  act  on  new  and 
independent  principles.  He  throws  all  the  knowledge  and 
skill  which  had  proved  itself  so  valuable  in  the  other  case 
utterly  aside,  and  proceeds,  if  indeed  he  proceeds  at  all,  in  a 
blind,  mechanical,  and  formal  manner,  which  is  as  unsuccess- 
ful in  religion  as  it  would  be  in  any  thing  else. 

In  truth,  a  great  portion  of  the  religious  community  would 
acknowledge,  if  they  would  be  honest,  that  they  do  not  con- 
sider the  exertion  of  religious  influence  as  coming  under  the 
ordinary  rules  which  should  regulate  the  action  of  mind 
upon  mind.  They  justly  attribute  all  hope  of  final  success 
to  a  divine  influence  upon  the  heart ;  but  this,  though  it 
assigns  a  large  part  of  the  work  to  a  higher  power,  does  not  at 
all  alter  the  nature  of  the  other  part  of  it,  which  remains 
committed  to  us.  We  should  always  consider  then,  when 
making  any  eflx)rts  to  bring  a  friend  or  a  neighbor  or  a  child 
to  God,  whether  we  should  take  a  similar  course,  or  at  least 
one  based  on  similar  principles,  or  similar  views  of  human 
nature,  to  accomplish  any  other  change  in  his  feelings  or 
conduct. 

Be  careful  also  to  make  every  experiment  and  effort,  a 
means  of  increasing  your  stock  of  knowledge  of  the  human 
mind,  and  of  its  tendencies  and  movements  in  respect  to  reli- 
gious feeling.  Watch  the  operation  of  causes  and  the  nature 
of  effects.  Look  into  the  Bible  for  a  standard  of  religious 
duty,  and  for  correct  views  of  the  nature  and  obligation  of 
God's  law  ;  and  then  look  into  the  wide  field  of  action  and 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  297 

Use  of  property.  Claims  of  Christianity. 

character,  which  is  developing  itself  all  around  you,  and  seek 
practical  knowledge  of  man  there.  When  you  fail  of  pro- 
ducing a  desired  effect,  investigate  the  cause  of  your  failure ; 
when  causes  from  which  you  would  have  looked  for  one  result, 
produce  a  different  or  contrary  one,  examine  the  case  and 
ascertain  the  difficulty.  When  success  attends  your  efforts, 
analyze  them  with  care,  to  discover  what  were  the  essential 
conditions  of  success.  In  this  way  you  can  not  but  make 
progress,  and  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  acting  thus  faith- 
fully and  skillfully  in  doing  your  work,  should  lead  you  at 
all  to  undervalue  the  necessity  of  most  efficient  and  con- 
tinued help  from  above. 

IV. USE    OF    PROPERTY. 

The  Christian  religion  takes  higher  ground  in  respect  to 
human  duty  than  any  pretended  message  from  heaven  ever 
dared  to  assume,  and  it  makes  claims,  which  for  boldness 
and  authority  stand  entirely  without  a  parallel.  Its  theory 
is  substantially  this  :  That  it  is  the  great  design  of  Jehovah 
to  establish  an  universal  kingdom  of  benevolence,  and  conse- 
quent happiness  : — that  this  kingdom  has  been,  in  this  world, 
overturned  and  destroyed  ;  and  that  all  who  wish  its  restora- 
tion are  to  come  and  give  themselves  2vholly  to  the  work  of 
promoting  it.  He  does  not  require  men  to  devote  a  part  of 
their  time,  and  a  part  of  their  property,  to  his  purposes,  leav- 
ing them  to  employ  the  rest  for  themselves.  He  claims  the 
whole, — or  rather  he  invites  men  to  come  and  consecrate  the 
whole  to  the  work  of  co-operation  with  him.  He  allows  no 
distinction  between  his  property  and  ours.  He  makes  no 
specification  of  the  amount  of  time,  or  the  extent  of  influence, 
which  we  should  devote  to  his  cause  :  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  most  distinctly  says,  that  as  he  is  devoting  all  his  energies, 
and  employing  all  his  time,  in  the  promotion  of  universal 
holiness  and  happiness,  he  expects  all  who  wish  to  be  con- 

N* 


298  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


CJommon  question.  Case  supposed. 

sidered  on  his  side  to  come  and  devote  all  theirs  to  this  work 
too. 

The  question  is  very  often  asked,  "  What  proportion  of  a 
man's  income  ought  to  be  devoted  to  charitable  purposes  ?" 
But  the  question  itself  seems  to  rest  on  an  entire  misconcep- 
tion of  the  nature  of  the  claim  which  God  makes  upon  men. 
It  may  have  either  of  two  meanings.  In  the  first  place,  the 
inquirer  may  mean  to  ask,  what  proportion  of  his  means  of 
doing  good  in  this  world  ought  to  be  devoted  to  his  Master's 
service,  and  what  to  his  own: — or,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may 
mean  this :  when  all  that  a  man  has,  is  consecrated  to  God, 
what  proportion  of  his  means  of  influence  should  he  employ 
himself,  and  what  portion  should  he  commit  to  others  to  em- 
ploy, in  his  Master's  service, — for  it  will  he  seen  by  a  very  slight 
examination,  that  when  money  is  given  for  a  charitable  pur- 
pose, it  is  generally  a  method  of  sustaining  others  in  the  work 
of  doing  good,  instead  of  doing  it  directly  ourselves.  Now 
in  the  first  of  these  two  significations,  the  question  is  evi- 
dently based  on  erroneous  views.  God  will  admit  of  no  such 
division  of  the  heart,  nor  of  the  powers,  of  his  creatures.  In 
the  second,  the  question  must  be  unanswerable  ;  that  is,  it 
can  receive  no  general  answer,  for  the  courses  to  be  taken  in 
respect  to  it  are  as  various  as  the  conditions  and  circum- 
stances of  men. 

But  let  us  analyze  a  little  more  accurately  the  real  nature 
of  doing  good  by  means  of  money.  It  is  called  giving,  but 
strictly  speaking  it  is  not  giving.  It  is  simply  a  combina- 
tion of  men  in  one  place,  to  produce  a  certain  moral  effect 
in  another ;  and  money  is  made  use  of,  as  the  mere  instru- 
ment by  which  the  object  is  accomplished.  This  we  shall 
easily  see,  by  looking  at  a  particular  case. 

To  make  the  reasoning  the  more  simple,  we  will  suppose 
a  case  which  would  never  precisely  occur,  but  we  can  easily 
apply  the  principles  which  it  illustrates  to  ordinary  instances. 


THE  PARTING  COMMAND.  299 


The  rude  Islanders.  Ways  of  reaching  them.  Various  plans. 

We  will  suppose  that,  on  some  rude  and  inhospitable  coast, 
remote  from  the  fertile  and  wealthy  regions  of  the  civilized 
world,  there  is  a  community  of  hardy  settlers,  who  are  de- 
voted and  consistent  Christians.  They  enjoy  religious  privi- 
leges themselves,  and  at  length  they  form  the  wish  to  do 
something  for  the  ignorant  and  vicious  inhabitants  of  a  small 
island,  a  few  miles  from  their  coast.  They  are  themselves 
dependent  upon  their  daily  exertions  for  their  daily  bread, 
and  consequently,  though  they  can  all,  besides  discharging 
the  duties  they  owe  to  their  families,  and  to  the  poor  around 
them,  find  an  hour  or  two  in  each  day,  which  they  can  de- 
vote to  God's  service  in  some  foreign  field,  no  one  of  them 
can  gain  time  enough  to  go  away  from  home,  to  visit  the 
destitute  islanders.  Now  there  are  evidently  two  ways  by 
which  they  can  surmount  the  difficulty.  Any  one  of  them 
can  lay  by  the  proceeds  of  his  labor  during  those  hours  which 
are  not  required  in  the  discharge  of  his  duties  at  home,  until 
he  has  accumulated  stores  sufficient  to  supply  his  family  and 
himself  during  the  time  necessary  for  making  a  visit  to  the 
island.  The  other  plan  is,  for  all  to  combine,  and  send  one 
of  their  number,  by  uniting  their  labors,  during  those  extra 
hours,  to  provide  support  for  the  one  thus  sent.  Let  us  sup- 
pose the  latter  plan  to  be  adopted ;  and  to  make  the  case 
more  distinct,  we  will  imagine  that  one  particular  hour  is 
assigned  at  which,  during  each  day,  all  who  remain  at  home 
shall  be  at  work  for  the  family  of  the  one  who  was  selected 
to  go.  When  the  hour  for  this  labor  arrives,  the  missionary 
is  perhaps  at  the  island,  explaining  to  the  inhabitants  the 
nature  of  rehgion,  and  the  claims  of  duty,  while  his  friends 
and  neighbors  at  home  are  each,  in  his  own  little  garden, 
laboring  to  provide  food  and  clothing  for  their  absent  brother 
and  for  his  lonely  family.  They  are  all  at  work  together, 
and  in  one  common  cause.  They  are  not,  indeed,  all  in  im- 
mediate connection  with  the  souls  for  whose  benefit  the  enter- 


300  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


CJo-operation.  Money.  Its  nature  as  a  means  of  doing  good. 

prise  was  planned,  but  they  who  are  at  home,  laboring  to 
sustain  the  absent  one,  are  as  really  and  effectually  operating 
upon  the  distant  island,  as  he  who  has  gone.  They  are  all 
engaged  in  one  common  enterprise,  for  the  promotion  of  God's 
cause,  each  doing  his  assigned  part.  Neither  is  giving  to  the 
other, — unless  indeed  he  who  goes  can  claim  some  gratitude 
from  the  rest,  for  having  assumed  the  severer  and  more  try- 
ing portion. 

Now  money  is  only  a  representative  of  the  proceeds  of 
labor,  and  if,  instead  of  sending  out  to  their  missionary  the 
provisions  and  clothing  that  he  would  need  when  engaged  in 
his  enterprise,  his  Christian  friends  at  home  should  convert 
those  provisions  and  clothing  into  the  form  of  money,  and 
send  them  to  him  in  that  form,  it  would  not  alter  the  case. 
They  would  still  all  be  laborers  in  one  common  cause,  differ- 
ent parts  assigned  to  each,  but  all  laboring  together  to  spread 
the  gospel,  according  to  the  command  of  their  Master.  Nor 
would  the  case  be  altered,  if  instead  of  working  for  this  pur- 
pose at  some  specified  time,  each  one  was  to  labor  when  he 
pleased,  in  carrying  forward  this  cause  ;  nor  is  it  essential 
that  such  labors  should  be  kept  distinct  from  the  ordinary 
labors  of  the  day.  All  these  incidental  circumstances  may 
be  almost  endlessly  varied,  without  at  all  altering  the  real 
nature  of  the  transaction,  considered  as  a  combination  among 
many  Christians  to  effect  a  moral  impression  on  human  souls, 
each  taking  his  own  appropriate  part,  but  all  engaged  to- 
gether, and  all  responsible  directly  to  God. 

Such  substantially  is,  in  all  cases,  the  nature  of  the  em- 
ployment of  money  in  spreading  the  gospel.  One  man  by  his 
own  unaided  efforts  can  not  give  the  Bible  to  a  nation,  or 
Dreach  the  gospel  in  a  half-civilized  province,  or  upon  an 
island  of  tawny  savages,  half  round  the  globe.  There  must 
be  a  great  combination  to  effect  objects  which  are  so  great, 
compared  with  the  narrow  limits  of  individual  power.     In 


THE    PARTING   COMMAND. 


301 


Examples  of  its  power. 


this  great  combination,  the  various  individuals  have  entirely 
different  parts  to  perform,  but  all  are  really  united  in  heart, 
and  all  their  separate  and  distinct  labors  tend  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  one  common  result.  Money  is  made  use  of  as 
the  instrument,  but  it  is  only  an  instrument  for  bringing  all 
these  scattered  labors  to  bear  on  the  proper  point.  In  the 
great  union,  too,  no  one  is  under  obligation  to  the  others. 
The  account  is  between  each  individual  and  God. 

How  wonderful  are 
the  results  secured  by 
the    contrivances    and 
arts    of  life.     A    soli- 
tary   widow,     in    her 
home   among  the  dis- 
tant forests,    knits    an 
hour    or    two    at    her 
lonely  fireside,  in  order 
to  contribute  her  little 
share  to  the  spread  of 
the  gospel  ;  her  work 
tells  on  the  minds  of 
savages  ten    thousand 
miles  from  her  humble 
dwelling.     A  farmer'fe 
children  cultivate  a  lit- 
tle piece  of  ground  in  their  father's  garden,  and  change  its 
products  in  the  autumn   for  a  dollar.     It  passes  from  their 
hands  and  they  see  it  no  more ;  but  in  a  few  months,  the 
magic  metal  comes  out  in  the  shape  of  a  thousand  pages  of 
the   word  of  God,   and  lives  for  half  a  century  to  tell  its 
message  to  the  benighted  people  of  some  foreign  land.     A 
timid,  and  retiring,  and  fearful  daughter  of  Zion  wishes  to 
do  something  for  her  Master,  and  she  industriously  plies  her 
needle  during  the  long  winter  evenings  of  a  single  season,  and 


THE  WIDOW. 


302 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Radiant  points  of  piety. 


a  few  months  afterward,  in  consequence  of  it,  a  miserable 
and  suffering  child,  whom  she  never  saw,  in  a  country  which 
she  has  scarcely  heard  of,  is  told  that  he  can  be  clothed,  and 
fed,  and  taught,  through  the  instrumentality  of  a  love  which 
has  reached  half  round  the  globe  to  bring  him  relief  from  his 
misery. 

It  is  important  to  be  noticed  here,  too,  that  in  one  respect, 
the  more  remote  from  ourselves  is  the  place  where  we  can 
make  any  moral  impression,  the  more  valuable  it  will  be  ;  for 
piety,  when  pure,  tends,  from  its  very  nature,  to  spread  and 
propagate  itself,  and  therefore,  from  every  point  among  the 
population  of  this  world,  at  which  we  can  once  give  it  a  foot- 
ing, we  may  hope  it  will  extend  in  a  wider  and  wider  circle. 
It  is  a  light  which  will  be  the  more  universally  diffused,  the 
more  its  radiant  points  are  multiplied.  And  yet  no  error  can 
possibly  be  more  fatal  than  for  a  Christian  to  suppose  that 
he  could  atone  for  the  want  of  heartfelt  and  efficient  piety  in 
his  own  quiet  sphere,  by  magnificent  plans  of  remote  and 
doubtful  good.  The  first  duty  of  every  follower  of  the  Savior 
is,  unquestionably,  as  we  have  already  shown,  at  home, — in 
his  own  inmost  soul ; — his  next,  in  his  own  narrow  circle  of 
personal  influence.  These  posts  must  be  guarded  well  by 
every  Christian,  or  else  piety  will  soon  lose  the  little  hold  she 
has  in  the  world.  But  maintaining  a  high  standard  of  Chris- 
tian feeling  and  action  in  the  small  circle  in  which  the  indi- 
vidual immediately  moves,  not  only  Tnay  not  be  inconsistent 
with  extensive  and  wide-spreading  benevolence,  but  it  can  not 
be.  Looking  at  a  distance  and  planning  with  reference  to 
remote  and  unseen  results  will  not  only  not  interfere  with  the 
progress  of  piety  in  the  heart,  but  if  such  efforts  are  made 
with  honest  sincerity,  they  will  be  the  most  effectual  means 
of  promoting  it.  But  then  they  must  be  made  in  the  right 
spirit.  The  attempt  to  carry  influence  in  the  ways  that  we 
have  described,  to  other  countries,  must  spring  from  honest 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  303 

Sincere  motives.  Piety  begins  at  home. 

desires  to  co-operate  with  God.  It  is  this  co-operation,  and 
the  moral  effect  at  which  it  ought  to  aim,  that  must  be  the 
great  stimulus  to  action,  and  the  pleasure  of  being  a  co- 
worker with  God  must  be  the  reward  ;  or  else  such  labors 
will  only  improve  and  strengthen  the  spiritual  pride,  or  the 
love  of  ostentation  and  display,  from  which  they  spring. 

We  have  thus  clearly  before  us,  the  nature  of  the  trust 
committed  to  the  members  of  the  Christian  church  of  every 
name  ;  it  is  a  charge  to  spread  the  Gospel  as  soon  as  possible 
throughout  the  globe.  "We  are  to  consider  ourselves  as  not 
our  own,  in  any  sense,  but  wholly  the  Lord's,  and  to  regard 
it  as  our  highest  happiness  to  be  permitted  to  identify  our- 
selves eiatirely  with  the  progress  of  his  cause.  We  are  to 
look  very  watchfully  and  very  faithfully  within  ;  for  the  best 
way  to  make  religion  spread  is  to  keep  it  pure.  We  are  to 
do  every  thing  that  we  can  to  diffuse  enjoyment  and  to  in- 
crease the  influences  of  holiness  in  the  little  circle  in  which 
we  immediately  move  ;  and  we  are  to  look  abroad  over  the 
whole  field  which  human  beings  occupy,  saying  with  our 
hearts  and  with  our  hands,  '•  Thy  kingdom  come."  To 
these  duties  we  should  be  devoted  entirely.  Every  thing 
should  be  subsidiary  to  them  :  as  we  can  find  no  true  happi- 
ness but  in  such  a  work,  so  we  should  make  no  reservations, 
but  consecrate  every  thing  to  it,  and  so  identify  ourselves 
with  it,  as  to  have  no  separate  interests  whatever.  The 
share  of  attention  which  each  of  these  various  departments 
of  the  great  work  of  spreading  the  Gospel  should  in  each 
individual  case  receive,  will  of  course  depend  upon  the  cir- 
cumstances of  each,  but  together  they  should  monopolize  the 
heart,  and  be  the  object  of  every  hour's  exertion. 

All  this  is  very  good  theory,  perhaps  the  reader  may  say, 
but  who  lives  on  these  principles  in  practice  ?  Very  few,  it 
must  be  admitted,  but  still  there  are  soi^e  who  do.  The 
early  Christians  did,  and  by  means  of  the  example  and  the 


304  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Success  certain.  Important  trust  committed  to  Christians. 


efforts  which  arose  from  their  unreserved  consecration  of 
themselves  to  the  cause  of  God  in  this  world,  the  principles 
of  Christianity  spread  with  almost  inconceivable  rapidity, 
and  their  progress  was  not  checked  until  worldliness  came  in 
to  corrupt  the  hearts  of  pretended  servants  of  God,  and  to  de- 
stroy all  the  moral  power  of  piety.  A  long,  dark  night  en- 
sued, and  we  yet  scarcely  see  much  more  than  the  dawn 
which  follows  it.  But  the  success  which  has  attended  the 
faint  and  feeble  efforts  which  the  church  has  made  within 
the  last  century,  show  most  conclusively  that  nothing  but  de- 
voted piety  in  the  church,  and  the  efforts  which  must  inevi- 
tably spring  from  it,  is  wanting,  to  bring  back  this  world  to 
its  Maker, — and  that,  too,  without  any  very  long  delay. 

It  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  mysterious  features  of  divine 
govenmient,  that  God  has  made  human  souls  so  dependent 
upon  one  another  ;  but  though  it  seems  hard  for  those  who 
must  wait  unblessed  with  the  light  of  knowledge  and  pure 
religion  until  we  send  it  to  them,  to  be  left  thus,  apparently 
at  the  mercy  of  a  few  unfaithful  pretenders  to  piety,  we  can 
easily  see  how  kind  to  us  it  is  for  our  Maker  to  repose  in  us 
such  a  trust  and  to  assign  to  us  such  a  duty.  To  give  man 
such  an  enterprise  as  this,  as  the  object  of  his  life,  exalts  and 
ennobles  him.  It  takes  him  out  of  the  narrow  circle  of  self- 
ishness, and  raises  him  at  once  above  the  groveling  pursuits 
of  sin,  and  gives  him  an  object  worthy  the  powers  of  an  im- 
mortal spirit.  We  feel,  if  we  engage  in  it,  linked  by  a  com- 
mon sympathy  with  all  that  is  great  and  good  in  the  mighty 
universe  of  God  ;  and  yet,  thus  raised,  thus  exalted  as  we 
are,  by  the  moral  grandeur  of  the  cause  which  we  are  per- 
mitted to  espouse,  there  is  no  place  for  pride.  We  feel  the 
lofty  emotions  which  our  work  inspires,  on  account  of  the 
moral  greatness  of  the  principles  which  it  is  its  object  to  dif- 
fuse, and  the  boundlessness  of  the  field  over  which  they  are 
to  be   extended,  and  the   countless  variety  and  lofty  moral 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  305 


Sublimity  of  the  Christian's  work.  Religious  discussion. 

and  intellectual  rank  of  the  beings  who  sympathize  with  u 
or  who  work  by  our  side, — and  the  certainty  of  ultimate  and 
triumphant  success.  These  are  the  sources  of  those  emotions 
with  which  the  Christian's  bosom  swells,  when  he  really 
comes  and  gives  himself  wholly  up  to  his  Master's  work  ;  his 
own  private  and  personal  share  in  results  so  vast  dwindles 
into  insignificance,  and  pride  has  no  soil  to  which  its  roots 
can  cling.  Man  thus,  by  linking  himself  with  God,  and  giv- 
ing himself  wholly  to  His  work,  enjoys  the  elevation  and  the 
happiness  of  greatness,  and  is  saved  from  its  dangers  and  sins. 

V. RELIGIOUS  DISCUSSION. 

We  place  this  title  among  the  subjects  brought  before  the 
reader  in  this  chapter,  rather  with  the  design  of  excluding 
than  of  including  it.  It  is  a  very  doubtful  means  of  doing 
good.  Skill  in  disputation  is  a  weapon  very  commonly  em- 
ployed ;  far  too  commonly  ;  and  our  design  now  is  to  show  its 
nature,  and  what  may  fairly  be  expected  from  it,  and  especially 
to  define  those  limits  and  restrictions  to  which  such  efforts  to 
act  upon  the  mind  ought  to  be  subjected.  Let  the  reader 
understand,  however,  while  reading  the  remarks  on  this  sub- 
ject, that,  like  the  rest  of  this  work,  they  are  addressed  to 
common  Christians,  sustaining  the  ordinary  relations  and  con- 
nections of  society.  Learned  men  have  sometimes  devoted 
their  lives  to  the  work  of  placing  on  record  the  evidences 
which  their  researches  have  furnished,  of  the  truth  and  di- 
vine authority  of  the  Scriptures,  or  of  the  nature  of  the  truths 
they  reveal ;  and  the  works  thus  produced  have  been  among 
the  strongest  bulwarks  of  Christian  faith.  Our  plan  does  not 
lead  us  to  say  any  thing  of  efforts  like  these  :  it  confines  us 
to  the  attempts  continually  made  to  remove  religious  error, 
by  argument  and  discussion,  in  the  common  intercourse  of 
life  ;  attempts  which  under  certain  circumstances  are  wise 
and  successful  :  under  others  they  are  far  worse  than  useless. 


306 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Early  associations. 


Instances. 


Religious  discussion  has  its  sole  foundation  in  real  or  sup- 
posed religious  error  ;  and  the  nature  of  religious  error  is  very 
little  understood.     Let  us  look  at  some  of  its  sources. 


1.  One  great  source  of  erroneous  impressions,  on  all  sub- 
jects, is  the  power  of  influences  exerted  in  early  life,  and 
which  are  sometimes  so  strong  as  utterly  to  bid  defiance  to 
all  argument.     Every  one  has  observed  the  permanency  of 
these  early  impressions  of  early  life  in  such  cases  as  the  fol- 
lowing.     A  child  was 
once     terrified,    when 
very   young,    by   sud- 
denly seeing   a  snake 
as  it  was   playing   in 
the  grass  ;   and  up  to 
the  age  of  twenty,  he 
retained  an  unconquer- 
able   aversion    to   the 
animal,    so    that     his 
companions     used     to 
torment  him  by  forcing 
upon    his    observation 
pictures    of  snakes, — 
which     would      over- 
whelm    him     in     an 
agony  of  terror  and  suf- 
fering.    Another  was  carried  to  see  a  man  who  was  shock- 
ingly mangled  by  an  accidental  explosion,  in  blasting  rocks, 
— and  fifteen  years  did  not  obliterate  the  impression.     During 
all  the  years  of  childhood  and  youth,  the  effects  of  gunpowder, 
in  every  form,  were  a  continual  terror  to  him.     Now  will 
you  endeavor  to  overcome  such  feelings  by  argument  ?     Will 
you  attempt  to  prove  to  these  terrified  young  men  that  a 


THE    HARMLESS   SERPENT. 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  307 

Religious  antipathies ;  beyond  the  reach  of  argument. 

picture  can  not  bite,  or  that  the  flash  of  a  little  squib  can  not 
endanger  them  ? 

But  the  reader  will  say  that  these  are  mere  antipathies  ; 
they  are  not  of  the  nature  of  erroneous  convictions  enter- 
tained by  the  understanding.  So  it  is  with  a  very  large 
proportion  of  the  dislike  to  religion,  and  the  disbelief  of  its 
truths,  which  prevails  in  the  world ;  it  is  mere  antipathy, 
and  not  deliberate  conviction.  The  cases  just  adduced  to 
illustrate  it,  are  certainly  strong  ones ;  but  every  man  who 
will  pause  a  mioment  to  reflect,  must  see  that  a  child,  brought 
up  under  the  influence  of  such  associations  as  are  in  many 
families  connected  with  the  religious  opinions  of  those  who 
disagree  with  them,  must  inevitably,  if  human  nature  is 
consistent  with  itself,  form  such  an  antipathy.  The  antipa- 
thy may  have  men,  or  it  may  have  opinions,  for  its  objects, 
but  in  either  case  argument,  as  a  corrective,  would  be  utterly 
thrown  away.  It  would  not  only  be  entirely  insufficient  to 
produce  a  change,  but  it  would  scarcely  have  any  tendency 
to  produce  one. 

A  sufficient  allowance  is  not  made  for  this  by  the  opposite 
parties  in  a  religious  controversy.  If  one  generation  takes 
sides  violently,  on  any  question,  they  inevitably  entail  the 
quarrel.  Their  children  have  scarcely  the  opportunity  to 
judge  for  themselves.  The  laws  of  the  human  mind  almost 
compel  them  to  feel  as  their  fathers  felt ;  for  it  becomes  in 
such  cases,  a  matter  of  feeling  rather  than  opinion.  No  one, 
therefore,  ought  ever  to  cherish  a  harsh  or  an  unkind  thought 
toward  any  one,  on  account  of  his  religious  errors,  if  his 
father  led  the  way. 

This  influence  of  early  associations  has  more  power  than 
all  other  causes  put  together,  in  the  formation  of  religious 
opinions.  The  children  of  Mahometans  become  Mahomet- 
ans themselves,  without  arguments  in  favor  of  the  Prophet ; 
and  in  the  Christian  world  religious  opinions  are  hereditary 


308  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Opinions  hereditary.  Irreligion  the  cause  of  error. 

and  pass  down  with  exceptions  comparatively  few  and  rare, 
from  father  to  son ;  so  that  Popery,  and  Protestantism,  Epis- 
copacy and  Dissent,  and  Presbyterian,  Baptist,  and  Methodist 
opinions  occupy,  in  the  main,  the  same  ground  from  genera- 
tion to  generation.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  argument  has 
something  to  do  with  this,  for  though  every  faith  has  its 
defenders,  to  which  all  have  access,  still  each, child  hears 
chiefly  the  voice  of  the  one  which  its  father  chooses  for  it. 
But,  notwithstanding  this,  every  intelligent  observer  of  the 
human  mind,  and  especially  of  the  habits  and  susceptibilities 
of  childhood,  will  at  once  admit,  that  other  influences  than 
those  of  argument  are  the  efiicient  ones,  in  the  production  of 
these  almost  universal  effects. 

Let  no  one  infer  from  these  undeniable  facts,  that  men  are 
not  accountable  for  the  exercise  of  their  reason  in  respect  to 
their  relations  to  God.  They  are  accountable.  The  fact  that 
men  follow  on  so  blindly  after  their  parents  in  this,  more  than 
in  any  other  case,  is  an  indication  of  the  cold  indifference  of 
the  human  heart  to  its  religious  duty.  Parents  can  not  con- 
trol their  children's  opinions  and  preferences,  on  other  points, 
so  completely  ;  and  they  could  not  here,  were  not  the  heart 
so  cold,  so  indifferent,  so  benumbed  in  respect  to  God.  When 
the  conscience  is  aroused,  these  chains  are  immediately 
broken,  and  the  soul  goes  free  to  think  for  itself,  and  to  throw 
away  its  shackles  forever.  It  may  escape  slowly  from  their 
thraldom,  but  escape  it  will,  if  any  real  penitence  and  any 
real  love  to  God  can  find  a  place  in  the  heart.  So  that  what 
is  justly  to  be  inferred  from  these  views,  is  not  that  men  who 
are  in  error,  are  innocent,  but  that  they  are  no  more  guilty 
than  those  who  believe  the  truth,  and  yet  live  in  sin.  A 
thousand  children,  growing  up  without  God,  are  all  guilty  for 
thus  living  in  disobedience  to  his  will ;  but  if  they  do  thus 
live,  the  question  of  their  religious  belief  is  not  of  much 
consequence  as  an  indication  of  their  real  characters.     Their 


TIIE    PARTING    UOMMAWD.  309 

One  great  distinction.  Influence  of  feelings.  Instances. 

belief  is  probably  almost  a  matter  of  mere  accident ;  so  that, 
as  to  their  characters,  it  makes  no  great  difference  who  is 
right  and  wrong  in  theory.  Their  guilt  consists  in  their  im- 
penitence, which  is  common  to  them  all,  not  in  their  errors, 
in  which,  from  accidental  circumstances,  each  may  differ 
from  the  rest. 

When  we  look  around  therefore  upon  society  we  should 
make  one  great  distinction  in  estimating  human  character, 
and  that  is,  between  those  who  love  God  and  those  who  love 
him  not ;  and  we  must  remember  that  from  the  very  fact 
that  the  latter  class  do  not  love  duty,  they  will  make  no 
honest  effort  themselves,  to  learn  what  it  is.  They  all  drink 
in  whatever  is  offered  to  them  in  childhood.  Some  are  right, 
and  some  are  wrong ;  but,  as  we  have  seen,  accident  has 
been  most  instrumental  in  deciding  the  question  in  each  case, 
and  ungodliness  is  the  common  foundation  on  which  all 
stand.  Induce  them  to  abandon  sin,  and  to  return  to  God 
in  any  respect,  and  their  eyes  will  be  opened.  Act  upon  the 
heart  first,  and  the  intellect  will  rectify  itself  afterward ; 
though  it  will  be  by  steps  too  hesitating  and  slow  for  our 
impatience  to  tolerate,  unless  we  have  considered,  more 
attentively  than  most  persons  have  done,  the  extreme  and 
almost  unconquerable  reluctance  with  which  the  power  of 
early  associations  relinquishes  its  hold. 

The  first  source  of  religious  error  then,  is,  the  power  of 
these  associations  of  early  childhood,  which  reasoning  never 
formed,  and  which  she  is  utterly  incompetent  to  overthrow. 

2.  Another  very  common  source  of  error  on  all  subjects, 
and  especially  in  religion,  is  the  bias  of  mind  produced  by 
the  influence  of  the  feelings.  The  danger  of  such  a  bias  is 
universally  understood  in  common  life,  and  is  guarded  against, 
in  many  cases,  with  great  care.  Whenever  a  contention 
arises  between  two  individuals,  the  friends  and  connections 


310  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Tho  contention.  The  consumptive  patient.  Bias  in  religion. 

of  the  respective  combatants,  with  the  same  facts  before  their 
eyes,  and  guided  professedly  by  the  same  principles  of  right 
and  wrong,  form  directly  opposite  opinions,  and  each  party 
adheres  to  the  views  which  mere  feeling  has  produced,  with 
inflexible  pertinacity.  So  when  any  new  speculation  or  plan 
of  improvement  is  agitated  in  any  community,  each  man 
will  take  sides  on  the  question,  just  as  his  interests  would  be 
affected  by  the  results.  In  the  former  of  these  cases  it  is 
personal  attachment,  in  the  latter,  pecuniary  interest,  which 
constitutes  the  bias ;  but  any  other  emotion  may  produce  the 
same  effect.  We  may  mention  one  other  case,  which,  though 
common,  is  melancholy  and  affecting  in  the  extreme.  How 
often  will  an  unhappy  man,  conscious  that  he  is  unprepared 
for  death,  sink  into  the  last  stages  of  a  lingering  disease, 
steeled  against  all  sense  of  the  danger  which  he  does  not 
wish  to  see.  His  hectic  cheek,  and  gradually  sinking  powers 
might  give  him  most  certain  evidence  that  he  is  drawing 
near  to  the  grave  ;  but  he  shuts  his  eyes  to  every  indication 
of  his  danger.  Just  because  he  wishes  and  hopes  to  be  re- 
stored to  health,  he  resolutely  persists  in  believing  that  resto- 
ration is  before  him.  The  delusion,  a  very  happy  one,  so  far 
as  its  exhilarating  power  tends  to  sustain  him  under  his  final 
sufferings,  but  very  melancholy  in  its  tendency  to  keep  him 
from  finding  peace  with  God, — clings  to  him  to  the  last ;  and 
he  sinks  under  the  very  hand  of  death,  with  an  unwavering 
but  baseless  confidence  that  health  and  happiness  are  soon  to 
return. 

This  tendency  of  the  human  mind  is  universally  known ; 
every  man,  in  consequence  of  it,  almost  instinctively  distrusts 
the  opinions  of  others,  where  their  feelings  or  their  interests 
are  involved  in  the  question ;  and  a  wise  man,  under  such 
circumstances,  will  distrust  his  own. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  class  of  subjects  on  which  men  are 
more  in  danger  from  this  source,  than  those  connected  witl 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  311 


Sources  of  bias.  Remedies.  Inefficacy  of  argument 

religion.  The  various  interpretations  which  are  given  to  the 
declarations  of  the  Bible  affect  very  considerably  their  force, 
in  respect  to  the  degree  of  restraint  they  impose  upon  human 
desires,  and  to  the  amount  of  sacrifice  which  they  require  in 
the  service  of  God.  A  great  reason,  therefore,  in  many  cases, 
why  men  can  not  see  the  evidence  of  a  particular  truth,  is 
the  practical  consequences  which  flow  from  it.  We  see  this 
very  clearly  in  those  cases  where  certain  abstract  views  of 
duty  relate  more  or  less  directly  to  the  common  pursuits  of 
life,  so  as  to  interfere  with  the  business  of  one  man,  while 
they  leave  that  of  another  untouched.  The  former  will 
make  great  opposition  to  that  which,  in  the  view  of  the  other 
is  most  obviously  and  unquestionably  true.  Now  in  some 
such  cases,  where  great  and  obvious  principles  of  common 
morality  are  concerned,  the  proper  course  undoubtedly  is,  tc 
throw  such  a  blaze  of  light  upon  the  subject  as  to  force  the 
guilty  perseverer  in  sin  to  see  his  duty.  In  regard,  however 
to  what  are  more  strictly  called  religious  truths,  mere  argu 
ment  in  such  cases  is  of  little  avail. 

A  man,  for  instance,  has  fully  determined  to  live  in  sin, 
and  perhaps  in  vice.  He  does  what  he  knows  to  be  wrong 
from  day  to  day,  though  conscience,  not  wholly  silenced, 
murmurs  feebly  in  those  hours  of  solitude  which  he  can  not 
wholly  avoid, — warning  him  of  the  danger  of  a  judgment  to 
come.  He  at  length  is  almost  accidentally  told  that  there  is 
no  future  retribution.  His  mind  springs  spontaneously  into 
the  belief  of  it.  He  needs  no  argument.  He  may  indeed 
listen  to  a  few  reasons,  for  the  purpose  of  laying  them  up  as 
weapons  of  defense,  but  his  own  belief  is,  after  all,  founded 
on  his  feelings.  Now  argument  and  discussion  with  such  a 
man  will  ordinarily  do  no  good.  While  he  appears  to  listen 
to  you  he  is  only  planning  his  own  reply.  Reasoning  has 
not  placed  him  in  his  entrenchment,  and  reasoning  can  not 
drive  him  from  it.     Must  he-  then,  the  reader  may  ask,  be 


312  THE    COltJNEli-STONE. 


Hard  to  acknowledge  error.  The  remedy. 

left  hopelessly  ?  No.  The  truth  has  an  ally  and  an  advo- 
caut.  in  his  own  breast,  which,  though  he  may  have  silenced 
it,  he  can  not  destroy  ;  and  our  hope  of  success  is  in  making 
its  warning  voice  heard  again.  Bring  duty  before  him  ;  lead 
him  to  see  that  he  disobeys  God,  and  that  his  expected  im- 
punity can  be  no  excuse  for  sin.  If  he  can  but  see  that  he 
is  a  sinner,  he  will  go  to  the  Bible,  and  that  will  set  him 
right  about  the  future  consequences  of  sin. 

The  cases  which  we  have  considered  thus  far  are  those  m 
which  the  mind  is  led  to  reject  what  is  true,  because  the 
truth  is  in  itself  unpleasant,  on  account  of  the  practical  duties 
which  rest  upon  it ;  but  the  mind  is  very  often  blinded  in  a 
little  different  way.  Men  are  often  kept  in  error,  not  because 
they  have  any  special  objection  to  the  truth  itself,  or  to  the 
practical  consequences  in  general  which  result  from  it,  but 
because  they  are  unwilling  to  acknowledge  that  they  have 
been  in  the  wrong.  A  man  who  has  always  been  on  one 
side,  and  is  so  universally  regarded,  can  not  admit  that  he  has 
been  mistaken,  without  feeling  mortification  himself,  and  ex- 
citing the  ill-will  of  others.  Light  however  comes  in,  which 
he  secretly  perceives  is  sufficient  to  show  him  that  he  has 
been  wrong ;  but  he  turns  his  eye  away  from  it,  because  he 
instinctively  feels  what  must  inevitably  follow  from  its  ad- 
mission. 

These  and  similar  causes  act  so  universally,  that  the  power 
of  reasoning  and  argument  in  changing  the  religious  opinions 
of  men  is  exceedingly  circumscribed.  If  men  were  willing 
to  perceive  the  truth,  we  should  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
prove  to  them  what  it  is  ;  but  proof  is  so  abundant  every- 
where, that  it  will  of  course  come  to  the  soul  as  fast  as  it  is 
ready  and  willing  to  receive  it.  The  first  thing  then,  gene- 
rally, is  to  get  men  into  the  path  of  duty.  They  all  have 
truth  enough  to  enlighten  the  beginning  of  it, — and  more 
light  will  certainly  shine  upon  it  as  they  go  on. 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  313 

Useless  disputes.  Language  misunderstood.  Human  character. 

There  is,  however,  a  vast  amount  of  useless  discussion 
arising  from  religious  differences,  which  the  foregoing  heads 
of  remark  will  not  explain.  They  who  are  in  some  degree 
willing  to  abandon  sin,  and  do  their  duty,  still  see  many  sub- 
jects in  very  different  lights,  and  become  involved  in  endless 
disputes  respecting  them.  Some  of  the  more  common  sources 
of  such  profitless  controversies  come  next  in  our  enumeration. 

3.  Disputes  founded  on  difference  in  the  understanding  of 
language.  Take,  for  example,  human  character.  There  is 
no  field  more  open  to  human  observation  than  this,  and  per- 
haps there  are  few  subjects  in  regard  to  the  facts  of  which, 
men  are  more  universally  agreed  ;  and  yet  there  is  scarcely 
any  one  which  has  given  rise  to  more  endless  discussions. 

In  their  practical  dealings  with  mankind,  it  is  plain  that 
intelligent  men  of  all  parties  take  substantially  the  same 
views  of  human  conduct  and  character.  They  who,  in  the 
argument,  have  the  lowest  views  of  the  natural  character, 
are  not  more  suspicious  or  severe  in  practice  than  others  ; 
and  those  who  speak  most  highly  of  the  native  purity  and 
the  spontaneous  virtues  of  the  human  heart,  are  not  thrown 
off  their  guard  by  their  theories.  As  to  the  facts,  there  is, 
and  there  can  be,  scarcely  any  disagreement.  We  all  know 
how  men  think  and  feel  about  God,  and  on  what  principles 
they  act  in  relation  to  one  another.  No  company  of  bank 
directors,  or  board  of  managers,  or  cabinet  council,  probably 
ever  differed  very  seriously  in  respect  to  the  success  of  pro- 
posed measures,  on  account  of  the  difference  of  their  views  in 
respect  to  the  character  and  the  tendencies  of  human  nature. 
They  may  belong  to  very  different  denominations,  and  may 
have  expressed  their  views  in  theory,  in  conflicting  language, 
but  when  they  leave  theory,  they  have  no  difficulty  about 
the  facts. 

I  speak,  of  course,  here  of  questions  about  human  charac- 
0 


314  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Nature  of  disputes  about  it.  Misunderstandingr. 

ter  as  it  is,  not  about  the  feelings  wilh  which  God  regards  it ; 
this  is  evidently  a  different  point,  and  one  in  which  disagree- 
ment would  not  necessarily  affect  the  practice,  in  the  com- 
mon business  of  life.  But  any  real  difference  in  respect  to 
the  actual  extent  of  the  depravity  of  the  heart  would  affect 
this  practice.  Now  notwithstanding  all  the  disputes  with 
which  mankind  have  been  agitated  on  this  subject,  there  is 
harmony  when  they  come  to  act.  The  disputes  are  at  once 
forgotten  ;  men  of  the  most  opposite  theoretical  views  work 
side  by  side,  differing  in  nothing  except  that  they  who  have 
had  the  most  extensive  experience  are  most  completely  on 
their  guard. 

Now  how  happens  it  that  under  such  circumstances  there 
should  be  such  a  perpetual  dispute  when  there  can  be  after 
all  but  little  real  disagreement  ?  Of  course,  I  refer  here,  as 
has  been  remarked  before,  to  a  disagreement  about  the  ac- 
tual principles  by  which  human  nature  is  controlled,  and  not 
to  the  view  which  God  takes  of  these  principles.  How  can 
there  be  such  a  disagreement  ?  The  explanation  is  that  the 
terms  employed  in  the  discussion  convey  to  different  individ- 
uals very  different  ideas.  One  party  understands  the  lan- 
guage used  by  the  other,  in  describing  human  character,  as 
implying  moral  perversion  so  complete,  that  the  heart  would 
take  delight  in  promoting  suffering,  and  would  love  moral 
evil,  in  all  cases,  on  its  own  account,  rather  than  moral 
good.  They  would  expect  to  see  it  hating  one  being  because 
he  is  merciful,  and  another  because  he  is  faithful  and  true. 
They  would  expect  men  with  such  characters  as  they  sup- 
pose the  language  in  question  to  imply,  would  abhor  justice 
and  mercy,  and  benevolence,  not  in  those  particular  cases 
merely  where  the  operation  of  these  principles  come  into  col- 
lision with  their  own  interest,  but  in  the  abstract,  and  uni- 
versally. They  would  expect  to  see  them  applauding  cruelty, 
and  admiring  black  ingratitude,  and  carrying  their  principles 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  315 

Dispute  grounded  on  misunderstanding.  Ambiguity  of  common  words. 

out  into  practice  by  devising  misery  for  all  around  them, 
merely  for  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  it,  and  bestowing  a 
double  share  of  their  malignity  upon  those  who  had  been 
most  friendly  to  them. 

Such  a  character  as  this  is  what  one  class  of  persons  under- 
stand by  the  language  used,  and  in  the  dispute  they  merely 
maintain  that  such  depravity  as  this  is  not  the  actual  char- 
acteristic of  mankind.  Nobody  believes  that  it  is,  but  the 
dispute  goes  on,  one  party  contending  for  one  view,  and  the 
other  opposing  not  the  opinion  of  their  antagonist,  but  a 
totally  different  one  ;  one  which  seems  equally  preposterous 
to  both.  If  they  should  come  to  an  explanation,  the  chief 
question  would  be,  simply  by  what  terms  they  should  de- 
scribe what  every  body  sees,  and  what  their  practice  proves 
that  they  see  substantially  alike. 

When  we  come  even  to  such  terms  as  can,  will,  freedom, 
'punishment,  unity,  person,  sin,  affections,  and  a  hundred 
others,  which  are  the  perpetual  topics  of  religious  controversy, 
though  they  are  plain  and  explicit  enough  in  common  use, 
they  have  various  shades  of  signification  as  terms  in  a  meta- 
physical argument.  These  shades  can  not  be  defined  ;  they 
elude  all  attempts  to  fix  them,  and  yet  they  very  seriously  af- 
fect the  views  a  man  will  form  of  the  proposition  into  which 
they  enter  ;  and  many  and  many  a  time  controversialists 
have  found,  after  a  long  discussion,  that  they  had  misunder- 
stood each  other  from  the  beginning. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  first  word  of  the  foregoing  list.  It 
seems  a  very  simple  word,  and  one  that  is  very  generally  un- 
derstood. So  it  is,  as  far  as  it  is  necessary  for  popular  use. 
But  any  person  may  convince  himself  that  when  used  for 
other  purposes,  it  is  not  understood  alike,  by  making  this 
experiment.  On  some  occasions,  when  ten,  or  twenty,  or 
more  individuals,  not  accustomed  to  metaphysical  specula- 
tions, are  together,  propose  this  question  :    "  Can  any  one  of 


316  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Proposed  question,  and  dispute  arising  from  it. 


the  company  go  and  lie  down  in  a  burning  fire  ?  Consider- 
ing all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  the  nature  of  fire,  his 
dislike  of  pain,  his  sound  mind, — considering  all  these  cir- 
cumstances, can  he  do  it?"  After  pausing  a  moment  for 
reflection,  so  that  each  individual  can  form  an  independent 
judgment,  call  for  a  simple  answer, — ay,  or  no.  The  com- 
pany will  probably  be  about  equally  divided.  The  larger 
it  is,  the  more  nearly  equal  generally  will  be  the  division. 
If,  now,  the  individuals  are  allowed  to  discuss  the  question, 
each  person  presenting  the  view  which  guided  his  own  vote, 
and  then  the  question  is  put  again,  the  diversity  of  opinion 
will  still  remain,  and  in  ordinary  cases  the  persons  questioned 
would  never  come  to  an  agreement.  And  yet  there  is  no 
difference  of  opinion  about  the  facts.  Every  one  knows  per- 
fectly well  what  is  the  actual  fact,  as  to  the  power  of  an  in- 
dividual in  respect  to  such  a  case.  The  whole  apparent 
diversity  is  produced  by  different  ideas  as  to  the  precise 
metaphysical  signification  of  the  little  word  can.  Practiced 
minds  would  have  no  difficulty  in  such  a  case  ;  they  would 
immediately  define  the  word,  and  give  two  answers  according 
to  the  two  significations,  and  they  would  be  unanimous. 

Now  no  class  of  disputes  are  more  common  than  endless 
discussions  which  are  precisely  of  such  a  character  as  this 
would  be.  The  danger  is  understood  by  scholars  who  are  at 
all  conversant  with  the  nature  of  such  inquiries,  and  they 
make  very  special  efforts,  though  these  efforts  are  often  inef- 
fectual, to  guard  against  it.  But  the  mass  of  mankind  are 
very  imperfectly  aware  of  this  source  of  difficulty,  and  they 
involve  themselves  in  endless  disputes, — ^the  parties  calling 
things  by  different  names,  and  each  combatant  astonished  at 
the  stupidity  and  obstinacy  of  the  other,  in  refusing  to  see 
what  is  so  perfectly  plain. 

4.  Another  source  of  endless  and  fruitless  discussions,  is 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  317 


Unimportant  questions.  Pride  and  self-conceit. 


disputing  about  questions  which  can  be  of  no  practical  con- 
sequence, however  they  may  be  decided.  Such  as  the  origin 
of  sin,  the  state  of  the  soul  between  death  and  the  resurrec- 
tion, the  salvation  of  infants,  the  precise  metaphysical  rela- 
tionship of  the  Son  to  the  Father.  We  have  said  they  are 
of  no  practical  consequence  ;  of  course  an  ingenious  reasoner 
can  contrive  to  connect  practical  consequences  with  any  sub- 
ject whatever,  and  in  his  zeal  he  will  exaggerate  the  impor- 
tance of  the  connection.  In  fact,  every  subject  in  the  moral 
world  is  more  or  less  connected  with  every  other  one  ;  noth- 
ing stands  out  entirely  detached  and  isolated,  and  conse- 
quently a  question  which  its  arguers  will  admit  to  be  merely 
a  theoretical  one,  will  never  be  found. 

It  would  of  course  be  absurd  to  condemn  all  discussions  of 
such  points  as  the  above,  and  others  similar  to  them.  The 
calm  philosophical  consideration  of  such  questions  is  perfectly 
proper.  It  is  bringing  them  into  the  field  of  religious  truth, 
and  making  them  the  means  of  religious  divisions, — each 
party  jealous  and  suspicious  of  those  who  think  differently 
from  himself, — and  leaving  the  weightier  matters  of  judg- 
ment, mercy,  and  faith,  in  order  to  wrangle  about  differences 
which  can  do  at  most  but  little  harm : — this  is  the  spirit 
which  it  is  our  object  to  condemn. 

5.  The  last  source  of  religious  error,  and  useless  religious 
disputes  which  we  shall  mention,  is  the  pride  and  self-conceit 
which  keeps  men  from  realizing  that  there  is  or  can  be  any 
subject  which  is  actually  beyond  the  reach  of  their  powers. 
Men  will  indeed  admit  this,  in  the  abstract,  but  then  they 
evince  the  insincerity  of  such  an  acknowledgment,  by  having 
a  distinct  and  well-defined  theory,  on  every  subject  which 
can  be  brought  before  them. 

But  the  truth  is,  and  every  mind  which  really  reflects  on 
its  condition  and  its  powers  must  perceive  it,  that  the  beams 


318  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  limited  powers  of  the  human  mind.  Fruitlessness  of  controvereios. 


of  reason  and  revelation,  which  shine  upon  our  path,  afford 
a  distinct  iUumination  only  for  those  objects  which  are  im 
mediately  around  us,  and  with  which  we  have  a  direct  and 
practical  connection.  Beyond  this  circle,  and  it  is  a  much 
narrower  one  than  is  perhaps  generally  supposed,  there  is  a 
region  of  doubt  and  darkness,  into  which  the  human  mind 
will  endeavor  in  vain  to  extend  its  vision.  In  some  cases, 
we  attempt  to  define  accurately,  what  from  its  very  nature 
is  not  susceptible  of  accurate  definition  ;  we  assign  exact 
boundaries  in  our  conceptions,  when  the  subject  does  not  ad- 
mit of  them  in  reality.  We  make  sweeping  assertions,  dis- 
posing of  whole  classes  of  subjects  at  a  word  :  or  we  take  a 
general  principle  which  is  perhaps  true  in  the  main,  and 
carry  it  out  to  extremes  to  which  it  can  not  fairly  extend. 
We  do  this  either  from  the  influence  of  an  almost  universal 
tendency  of  the  human  mind  to  love  sweeping  generalities,  or 
else  because  it  is  troublesome  to  pause,  and  reflect,  and  ascer- 
tain exceptions.  In  fact,  a  reflecting  man  will  often  detect 
himself  believing  a  proposition  merely  because,  when  express- 
ed, it  sounds  antithetic  and  striking,  or  because  it  is  compre- 
hensive and  distinct,  and,  right  or  wrong,  presents  a  con- 
venient solution  for  whole  classes  of  difficulties.  The  human 
mind  will,  in  a  word,  run  into  almost  any  belief,  by  which 
it  may  be  saved  the  labor  of  patient  thought,  and  at  the 
same  time  avoid  the  mortification  of  acknowledging  its  ig- 
norance. 

From  these  views  of  the  origin  and  nature  of  religious 
error,  and  of  the  effect  of  argument  and  discussion  as  a  means 
of  removing  it,  it  seems  to  be  pretty  clear  that  those  endless 
disputes  and  controversies  which  are  perpetually  springing 
up  in  the  common  walks  of  life,  by  which  the  peace  and 
harmony  of  families  and  villages  are  so  often  destroyed,  are 
labor  spent  in  vain.     The  Christian  endeavors  to  reason  his 


THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  319 

The  test  of  the  truth.  Sin  a  disease.  EflScacy  of  remedies. 

brother  Christian  or  his  worldly  neighbor  out  of  his  errors, 
and  begins,  perhaps,  with  honest  motives,  and  certainly  with 
sanguine  hopes  of  success.  But  he  finds  that,  however  ex- 
clusively he  may  imagine  the  truth  to  be  on  one  side,  there 
may  be  talking  on  both,  and  he  soon  becomes  irritated  by 
formidable  opposition,  when  he  expected  an  immediate  sur- 
render. He  soon  becomes  excited,  and  forgetting  the  spirit- 
ual value  of  the  truth,  he  contends  for  victory  in  the  contest, 
and  if  he  had  any  right  feeling  at  the  beginning,  it  is  all 
gone  before  the  conversation  is  closed. 

The  best  way  for  private  Christians  to  prove  the  truth,  is 
to  let  it  exercise  its  whole  power  upon  their  own  hearts,  and 
then  to  exhibit  its  fruits.  Try  to  promote  the  happiness,  and 
to  improve  the  hearts  and  lives  of  those  around  you,  and  you 
will  evince  the  efficacy,  and  the  value,  and  the  truth  of  the 
opinions  which  you  hold,  better  than  in  any  other  way.  If  a 
pestilential  disease  were  raging  in  a  city,  and  if  the  commu- 
nity were  divided  in  regard  to  the  method  of  cure,  how  pre- 
posterous would  it  be  for  those  who  are  well  to  leave  the  sick 
and  suffering,  and  suspend  all  active  efforts,  and  waste  their 
time  in  disputes  about  the  nature  of  the  vital  powers, — the 
character  of  the  disease, — and  the  operation  of  the  various 
remedies.  It  would  be  absurd  ;  but  let  each  one  go  and  try 
his  own  plan,  and  the  success  of  the  right  one  will  secure  its 
universal  adoption  ;  and  that  too,  with  a  rapidity  which  will 
be  just  in  proportion  to  the  degree  in  which  all  disputing  on 
the  subject  is  avoided.  In  the  same  manner  success  in  turn- 
ing men  to  holiness  is  the  great  criterion  of  religious  truth. 
It  must  be  so ;  the  world  is  full  of  hearts  alienated  from  God, 
and  enslaved  to  sin  ;  and  nothing  but  true  religion  can  break 
these  chains,  and  bring  back  the  wanderer  to  pardon  and 
happiness.  Let  the  advocates  then,  of  every  system  of  reli- 
gious truth,  go  abroad  among  mankind,  and  try  their  remedies. 


320  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Moral  power  of  the  truth.  The  means  of  propagating  it. 

That  which  is  really  from  Heaven  must  succeed,  and  success 
must  decide  its  triumph 

In  fact  the  little  progress  which  religion  is  making  in  the 
world  is  made  in  this  way.  Disputes  on  all  subjects  which 
are  involved  in  real  difficulty,  generally  result  in  a  division 
of  the  auditors  into  parties,  proportioned  pretty  nearly,  to  the 
abilities  of  the  combatants  ;  and  in  religion  there  is  a  bias, 
which  is  altogether  on  the  wrong  side  ;  discussion,  therefore, 
here  will  be  peculiarly  uncertain  in  its  results.  It  is  the 
visible  moral  effect  of  the  truth,  which  really  sustains  its 
influence  in  this  world.  It  is  moral  'power,  so  evident  and 
BO  irresistible,  which  enables  pure  Christianity  to  stand  her 
ground ;  and  every  thing  which  diminishes  this,  or  limits 
the  sphere  of  its  influence,  or  draws  off  the  attention  of  men 
from  it, — every  thing  of  this  kind,  retards  most  directly  and 
most  powerfully  the  progress  of  the  Savior's  cause.  Let 
every  class  of  Christians  then,  who  think  they  love  the  truth, 
not  waste  their  time  m  disputing  with  their  neighbors,  but 
cherish  the  pure  spirit  of  piety  in  their  hearts,  and  cultivate 
in  themselves  and  in  all  around  them,  its  genuine  and  happy 
fruits.  The  Christians'  rule  of  influence  is  not  to  endeavor 
to  establish  the  truth  in  the  human  intellect  by  the  power  of 
subtile  disputation ;  but  "  by  manifestation  of  the  truth,  to 
commend  themselves  to  every  man's  conscience,  in  the  sight 
of  God."  In  other  words,  we  must  bring  piety  forward  ;  its 
nature  and  tendencies  must  be  made  to  appear  in  this  world, 
and  to  stand  out  in  bold  and  striking  relief  among  the  prevail- 
ing miseries  and  sins.  But  this  must  be  done,  too,  with  the 
constant  conviction  that  the  conscience  is  the  great  avenue 
by  which  the  truth  is  to  find  access  to  the  human  heart,  if  it 
'»  admitted  at  all. 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE,  321 


The  command  and  the  promise.  The  Savior's  presence. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE     PARTING    PROMISE,    OR     THE     INFLUENCES    OF    THE    HOLY 
SPIRIT. 

"  Lo  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world." 

At  the  time  of  our  Savior's  crucifixion,  any  one  who  should 
have  looked  abroad  at  the  condition  and  character  of  man- 
kind, would  have  pronounced  the  attempt  which  the  twelve 
disciples  were  about  to  make,  the  most  wild  and  impracticable 
scheme  which  the  human  heart  could  devise.  Jesus  knew, 
when  he  commanded  his  followers  to  engage  in  such  an 
enterprise,  that  they  would  need  help.  He  coupled  therefore 
a  promise  to  his  command, — the  one  as  remarkable  as  the 
other. 

The  Savior's  presence  with  his  followers  assists  them  in 
their  work,  undoubtedly,  in  several  ways.  It  cheers  and 
sustains  them.  It  gives  them  guidance  and  direction  in 
difficulty  and  doubt ;  and  the  feeling  that  they  are  always 
with  their  leader,  enjoying  his  presence  and  sympathy,  gives 
devoted  and  honest  Christians  a  support  in  difficulty,  and 
trial,  and  affliction,  which  nothing  else  could  afford. 

But  Jesus  had  often  said  before,  that  men,  when  turned 
from  sin,  were  turned  by  an  influence  from  above,  which 
influence  he  was  to  send  down  from  the  Father.  We 
can  not  therefore  doubt  that  in  this  his  parting  promise 
he  referred  in  part  at  least  to  the  co-operation  which  he 
should  himself  render  them,  in  all  their  efforts  to  save  souls. 


322  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Proofe  of  it.  Saul.  Difficulties  of  the  subject 


The  disciples  understood  this,  and  the  first  triumphs  of 
Christianity  were,  in  a  simple  but  beautiful  manner,  ascribed 
to  him  :  "  And  the  Lard  added  to  the  church  daily,  such 
as  should  be  saved." 

Their  Master,  too,  gave  the  disciples  an  early  and  most 
signal  proof  that  he  remembered  his  promise,  and  was  able 
to  fulfill  it,  by  changing  Saul,  their  bitterest  and  most  power- 
ful foe,  to  their  most  devoted  and  most  eflScient  friend.  The 
apostle  always  attributed  his  conversion  to  the  direct  inter- 
position of  his  Savior ;  and  with  such  proofs  as  the  early 
Christians  thus  had,  that  a  divine  and  unwonted  influence 
was  exerted  upon  human  hearts,  in  connection  with  their 
efforts,  they  could  not  but  take  courage,  and  press  on  in  a 
cause,  which,  without  such  aid,  must  have  been  very  soon 
abandoned. 

We  have  the  same  evidence  now,  as  I  intend  to  show  in 
this  chapter,  by  a  narrative  of  facts, — such  as  are  in  sub- 
stance very  common  in  modern  times,  and  which  prove  that 
the  enterprise  of  bringing  the  world  back  to  God  is  not  a 
hopeless  one.  The  narrative  will  show  too  that  the  same 
kind  of  aid,  so  indispensable  to  success  in  such  a  cause  as 
this,  is  still  rendered.  Before  coming  to  it,  however,  a  few 
considerations  respecting  the  general  subject  must  first  be 
offered. 

There  are  certainly  great  difficulties  connected  with  the 
truth  that  whenever  men  turn  away  from  their  sins  and  enter 
God's  service  it  is  through  spiritual  life  which  he  awakens 
in  the  soul.  Into  these  difficulties,  we  do  not  now  propose  to 
enter.  We  feel  and  know  that  men  are  free  and  accounta- 
ble ;  the  Bible  most  explicitly  states,  too,  that  all  holy  desires 
in  the  human  heart  come  from  God.  If,  however,  the  ques- 
tion is  raised  how  holy  feeling  can  be  the  spontaneous  move- 
ment of  the  moral  agent  which  exercises  it,  and  yet  be  the 
gift  of  God,  we  may  lose  ourselves  in  boundless  perplexities, 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  323 

Subject  obscure.  Plausible  reasoning  not  to  be  relied  upon. 

and  return  from  the  fruitless  pursuit  more  dissatisfied  than 
ever.  The  difficulty  is,  however,  in  the  subject,  rather  than 
in  the  truth;  that  is,  it  appertains  to  a  whole  field  of 
thought,  and  not  to  one  particular  proposition.  It  is  dilficult 
for  us  to  understand  how  a  being  can  be  created  at  all,  with- 
out having  his  character  determined  by  the  act  of  creation. 
If  the  question,  what  his  first  moral  acts  shall  be,  is  deter- 
mined by  any  thing,  it  would  seem  that  it  must  be  by 
something  in  his  moral  constitution,  as  it  was  framed  by  his 
Maker;  and  if  it  is  not  determined  by  any  thing,  it  mist, 
one  would  think,  be  left  a  matter  of  pure  accident ;  and  that 
which  is  a  matter  of  pure  accident,  can  not  be  of  a  moral 
nature.  We  might  thus  make  out  a  very  respectable  argu- 
ment a  priori,  that  a  ft  ee  moral  agent  can  not  be  created  ; 
as  creating  power,  unless  it  leaves  the  moral  character  a 
matter  of  mere  accident,  must  do  something  to  determine  it, 
in  which  case  it  would  seem  that  it  is  itself  responsible  for 
the  acts  which  follow. 

It  will  of  course  be  understood  that  we  do  not  offer  this 
argument  as  a  sound  one, — but  only  as  plausible  reasoning 
which  is  not  to  be  relied  upon,  on  account  of  the  obscurity 
and  difficulty  of  the  whole  subject.  Take  for  instance  the 
question  suggested  by  the  last  lines  of  the  preceding  para- 
graph ; — can  creative  power  really  determine  the  character 
of  the  being  which  it  forms,  withoat  being  itself  morally  re- 
sponsible for  that  character.  It  is  a  question  which  might 
be  disputed  by  philosophers  for  ages,  without  victory  on  either 
side.  The  difficulty  is  in  the  subject.  Wherever  we  ap- 
proach it  all  is  obscurity  and  doubt.  On  such  a  subject  we 
can  not  trust  our  reasonings,  nor  believe  our  conclusions. 

There  is  no  objection,  perhaps,  to  an  occasional  discussion 
of  such  points,  by  Christians,  if  conducted  with  the  same  feel- 
ings with  which  we  should  investigate  any  other  difficult 
question  in  metaphysics  or  philosophy :   but  we  must  not 


324  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Ambigmty  of  language.  Facts  are  plain ;  the  theory  obscure. 

bring  such  discussions  into  the  region  of  religious  feehng  and 
duty,  and  press  upon  our  fellow-Christians  the  theories  which 
we  may  ourselves  be  led  to  form.  What  human  minds  see 
so  imperfectly,  they  never  see  alike.  On  such  subjects  they 
can  not  agree.  What  is  substance  to  one,  is  shadow  to  an- 
other :  and  a  thought  which,  from  one  point  of  view,  has  one 
set  of  aspects  and  relations,  from  a  different  one  has  another, 
totally  diverse.  Besides,  in  the  higher  regions  of  metaphysi- 
cal investigation,  words,  as  a  medium  of  communication,  if 
not  as  a  medium  of  thought,  lose  their  significancy,  and  thus 
even  the  conceptions  which  we  have,  though  perhaps  clear 
in  the  mind,  can  not  be  clearly  expressed.  In  fact,  the 
human  intellect,  when  it  roams  away  into  the  profound 
recesses  of  metaphysical  philosophy,  can  lead  on  other  minds 
but  a  very  little  way.  Intercourse  by  language  very  soon 
fails.  We  endeavor,  by  nice  definition,  and  careful  etymo- 
logical discrimination,  to  lead  it  on  as  far  as  it  will  go ;  and 
it  is  often  long  before  its  growing  inadequacy  is  understood 
and  felt.  It  must,  however,  at  last  be  abandoned,  and  the 
mind  then,  if  it  advances  at  all,  must  advance  alone  and 
silently.  It  perceives  truths,  or  at  least,  it  forms  conceptions 
which  it  can  not  communicate,  and  when  at  last,  bewildered 
in  the  increasing  perplexity  of  the  labyrinth,  it  gives  over, 
and  returns,  it  can  never  convey  to  another  mind  any  precise 
idea  of  the  point  to  which  it  had  gone. 

Now  nearly  all  the  disputes  on  this  subject  which  have 
agitated  the  church,  lie  in  that  doubtful  region,  where  the 
mind  can  see  but  dimly,  and  must  report  even  more  dimly 
than  it  sees.  Language  has  lost  its  power,  though  he  who 
uses  it  does  not  perceive  its  weakness  ;  and  hence  the  discus- 
sions are  made  up  almost  entirely  of  explanations  and  cor- 
rections, and  definitions  of  terms,  and  charges  of  misunder- 
standing or  misrepresentation.  We  had  better  leave  the 
whole  ground.     Believe  what  the  Bible  says,  and  look  at  the 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  325 


Moral  dependence  on  God.  Waiting  for  the  Spirit. 


confirmations  of  it  afforded  so  abundantly  by  experience,  and 
leave  discussions  of  theories  for  a  future  day. 

We  corne  then  to  the  facts  in  the  case,  which  are,  that 
men  will  not  turn  away  from  sin,  and  begin,  with  broken- 
hearted penitence,  to  serve  God,  without  his  aid.  There  is 
no  way  of  inducing  them  to  do  it.  You  can  bring  clearly 
before  them  the  obligations  which  they  are  under  to  God,  but 
if  they  still  prefer  the  world  and  sin,  what  more  can  you  do  ? 
You  can  exhibit  the  moral  beauty  of  gratitude,  but  if  you 
exhibit  it  to  a  heart  naturally  ungrateful,  if  such  an  one 
should  be  found,  what  good  would  it  do  ?  You  can  not  prove 
that  if  a  man  has  received  kindness  from  another  he  ought 
to  show  kindness  in  return.  If  the  person  whom  you  address 
does  not  perceive  this  truth  at  once,  there  is  nothing  to  be 
said  about  it ;  argument  would  be  utterly  unavailing.  In 
the  same  manner,  if  he  sees  it,  but  does  not  feel  it,  you  can 
not  alter  his  heart  by  reasoning. 

There  is  a  mistaken  view  of  man's  moral  dependence, 
which  in  some  cases  produces  one  very  bad  effect.  Persons 
sometimes  think  that  the  power  to  renew  them  is  so  com- 
pletely in  their  Maker's  hands  that  they  must  wait  for  him 
to  exercise  it.  They  seem  to  have  the  impression  that  God 
will  repent  for  them,  and  they  are  looking  to  him  to  do  it. 
Now  this  is  very  evidently  absurd.  The  Holy  Spirit  will 
never  repent  for  you  ;  no,  never.  From  the  very  nature  of 
things  that  never  can  be.  You  must  repent  yourself,  though 
if  you  do  it,  it  will  be  in  the  exercise  of  spiritual  power  sup- 
plied from  on  high. 

Nor  is  the  sinner  to  wait,  as  many  seem  inclined  to  do, 
until  he  perceives  that  the  spiritual  power  by  which  he  is  to 
exercise  penitence  is  furnished  to  him.  The  first  holy  action 
of  the  renewed  soul  is  simultaneous  with  moral  renewal. 

The  absurdity  of  such  passive  waiting  to  be  acted  upon^ 
may  be  well  illustrated  by  some  of  the  miracles  of  the  Savior. 


326 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  mac  -vrith  a  withered  hand. 


THE    WITHERED   HAND. 


A  man,  for  example, 
comes  to  Jesus  Christ 
with  a  withered  hand. 
It  hangs  lifeless  by  h 
side.  It  is  insensible 
and  motionless,  a  sym- 
bol of  the  moral  condi- 
tion of  the  human  soul 
when  dead  in  sin.  He 
asks  help  from  the  Sa- 
vior ;  and  what  is  the 
reply  ?  "  Stretch  forth 
thine  hand." 

"  How  can  I  stretch 

't  forth  ?     Its  utter  life- 

lessness,"     might     the 

poor  patient  say  to  the 

Savior,   "  is  the  very  reason  why  I  bring  it  to  thee.     I  can 

not  stretch  it  forth  unless  its  life  and  power  are  previously 

restored." 

"  Stretch  forth  thine  hand,"  is  however  the  command, 
and  though  we  might  gather  innumerable  theoretical  diffi- 
culties about  such  a  command,  there  are  none  in  practice. 
The  patient  obeys.  The  very  instant  of  exertion  on  his  part, 
is  the  very  instant  of  returning  life  and  power.  His  hand 
obeys  his  volition.  It  obeys  it  however  by  a  power  which 
a  supernatural  interposition  supplied.  He  could  not  have 
raised  his  arm  without  external  aid,  and  on  the  other  hand, 
he  could  not  have  external  aid,  without  making  the  effort. 

Now  every  person,  who,  after  understanding  God's  com- 
mands, defers  obedience  until  the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
is  exerted  upon  him  to  lead  him  to  it,  seems  to  be  almost 
precisely  in  the  condition  of  the  man  with  the  withered  hand, 
if,  after  the  Savior  had  directed  him  to  stretch  it  forth,  he 


THE    PARTING    PROMISfi.  327 


Faults  and  errors.  We  must  be  bom  agaiu. 

had  stood  waiting,  before  he  made  the  effort,  to  have  life 
restored  to  it.  He  must  feel,  he  thinks,  the  blood  beginning 
to  circulate,  and  sensation  returning,  before  he  has  any  thing 
to  do  I  His  arm  would,  in  such  a  case,  remain  withered  for- 
ever. So  the  soul  which  has  sunk  into  the  lethargy  of  wait 
ing  for  God's  Spirit,  may  wait  forever  in  vain.  Man  musl 
repent  himself.  He  must  love  God  himself;  he  must  aban 
don  sin,  himself  God  will  not  do  the  work  for  us  ;  he  will 
only  infuse  the  spiritual  vitality  by  which  it  is  to  be  done. 

It  is  melancholy  to  observe  that  when  the  word  of  God,  or 
the  obvious  principles  of  duty,  mark  out  a  straight  course, 
man  will  find  devious  and  wandering  paths,  turning  off  to 
the  right  and  to  the  left, — any  way,  just  to  avoid  the  narrow 
path  of  duty.     One  class  of  persons,  interested,  or  professing 
to  be  interested,  in  the  question  of  their  salvation,  fold  their 
arms  in  quiet  inaction,  waiting,  as  they  say,  for  influences 
from   above   to  lead  them  to  their  duty.     Others,  aroused 
perhaps  from  this  condition,  go  zealously  to  work  to  purchase 
their  salvation, — to  fabricate  repentance  and  faith  by  theii 
own  power  alone.     Self-confident,   self-suflicient,   and  filled 
with  spiritual  pride,  they  think  to  turn  their  own  hearts  to 
God,  without  receiving  any  new  life  from  him.      Brought 
back  from  their  wanderings  upon  one  side  of  the  truth,  away 
they  go  immediately  upon  the  other,  in  an  error  as  danger- 
ous, nay,  as  fatal  as  before.     For,  after  all,  it  makes  little 
difference  whether  a  man  gives  up  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
altogether,  or  attempts  to  enter  it  without  being  born  again. 
In  either  case,  he  continues  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins.     The 
difference  is,  that,  in  the  one,  he  lies  in  acknowledged  life- 
lessness, — in  the  other,  his  cadaverous  form  is  clothed  in  the 
garments,  and  placed  in  the  attitude  of  life ;  but  stiffened 
limbs,  and  a  countenance  of  death-like  expression  betray  its 
case.      We  must  be  born  again. 

The  modes  and  forms  which  moral  renewal  by  the  Holy 


328  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Influences  of  the  Spirit,  Various  effects. 

Spirit  assumes  in  the  soul  are  innumerable  ;  and  the  truths 
which  seem  to  be  employed  as  the  means  of  affecting  the 
heart  are  almost  equally  varied.  All  that  we  know  is,  that 
while  the  mass  of  mankind  go  on  obstinately  in  sin,  individ- 
uals of  every  possible  character,  and  in  every  variety  of  cir- 
cumstances, do  repent  and  return  to  duty.  Sometimes  it  is 
the  little  child,  knowing  scarcely  any  thing  but  that  it  has  a 
Maker  ;  again,  it  is  some  hardened  and  violent  opposer  of  God 
and  religion,  who  throws  down  his  weapons  and  comes  hum- 
bled and  broken-hearted  to  the  foot  of  the  cross.  Sometimes 
one  well  instructed  in  religious  truth,  and  faithfully  warned 
of  guilt  and  of  danger,  will,  after  years  of  indifference  and 
thoughtlessness,  suddenly  relent  and  come  to  the  Savior,  and 
at  others  whole  communities  will  be  aroused  ;  and  though 
they  could  before  be  affected  by  no  exhortations,  and  no  re- 
monstrances, they  will  now  suddenly  awake,  and  flock  in 
crowds  to  the  service  of  God.  The  Holy  Spirit  can  operate 
anywhere  and  with  any  means.  Sometimes  he  whispers 
gently  to  a  single  one  in  solitude, — sometimes  he  spreads 
solemnity  over  the  crowded  meeting.  To-day  he  gives  mean- 
ing and  power  to  the  Scriptures,  as  the  reader,  at  his  lonely 
fireside,  seeks  their  guidance, — to-morrow  he  indites  a  prayer, 
or  gives  to  reflections  which  have  been  utterly  unable  to 
affect  the  heart,  power  to  overwhelm  it  with  emotion,  or 
brings  up  sins  which  have  been  looked  upon  with  cold  un- 
concern, in  their  true  character,  and  draws  them  out  before 
the  soul  in  gloomy  array.  He  awakens  conscience,  and  quick- 
ens the  memory  ;  he  disrobes  the  world  of  her  alhiring  garb, 
and  gives  a  spiritual  meaning  to  the  events  of  Providence. 
Life,  seen  by  the  light  which  he  brings  into  the  soul,  wears 
its  own  serious  and  sober  hue  :  eternity  rises, — its  distant 
realities  draw  near, — doubts  and  uncertainties  vanish,  and 
the  soul  to  which  this  heavenly  messenger  is  sent,  walks  forth 
redeemed  from  sin,  purified  from  pollution,  set  free  from  its 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  329 

The  narrative.  A  New  England  college.  The  buildings. 

chains,  and  with  its  powers  expanded  and  its  aims  and  views 
enlarged,  prepared  henceforth  to  be  a  holy  and  happy  child 
of  God,  instead  of  the  degraded  and  polluted  child  of  sin. 

Now  it  is  aid  like  this  that  Christians  are  to  look  for,  when 
they  endeavor  to  promote  the  cause  of  religion  in  the  world, 
and  it  seems  to  be  rendered  just  in  proportion  to  the  humility 
and  sincerity  and  devotedness  of  the  efforts  which  are  made. 
Bad  feelings  and  sinister  aims  are  so  often  mingled  with 
Christian  zeal,  and  so  often  assume  its  form,  that  in  ordinary 
cases  we  have  a  sad  mixture  of  the  fruits  of  genuine  piety 
with  those  of  hypocrisy  and  sin.  There  is,  however,  such  a 
thing  as  moral  renewal  by  means  of  unwonted  influences 
upon  human  hearts,  which  the  ordinary  operations  of  the 
mind  can  not  explain.  The  following  narrative  is  not  an  ac- 
count of  a  very  uncommon  case.  It  is  a  specimen  of  hun- 
dreds which  have  occurred  within  a  few  years  in  our  land, 
and  which  have  been  fully  equal  to  this  in  its  results.  An 
^ctual  case  like  this,  narrated  particularly,  may  give  the 
reader  a  more  vivid  conception  of  what  co-operation  from 
above  Christians  may  expect,  than  general  remarks  upon  the 
promises  which  the  Scriptures  contain.  Such  cases  certainly 
afford  a  striking  commentary  upon  the  Savior's  words,  "  Lo,  I 
am  with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world." 

THE  COLLEGE  REVIVAL. 

As  probably  but  few  of  my  readers  have  had  opportunity 
to  form  any  acquaintance  with  the  interior  of  a  New  England 
college,  or  with  the  nature  of  college  life,  I  must  commence 
my  narrative  with  a  description  of  the  place  in  which  the 
scene  is  laid. 

The  appearance  which  a  New  England  college  exhibits  to 
a  traveler,  is  that  of  a  group  of  large  brick  buildings,  gene- 
rally a  hundred  feet  long,  and  four  stories  high,  standing 
usually  upon  an  eminence,  or  upon  a  level  plain,  on  the  bor- 


330 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  classes. 


ders  of  some  quiet  country  village.  The  buildings  are  con- 
nected with  one  another,  and  approached  from  various  direc- 
tions, by  graveled  walks,  and  perhaps  ornamented  with 
shrubbery  ;  and  one  among  them,  distinguished  usually  by  a 
form  somewhat  different  from  the  rest,  and  surmounted  by  a 
sort  of  cupola,  indicates  that  the  whole  constitutes  some  pub- 
lic establishment. 


THE   COLLEGE. 


A  fresh  admission  of  students  takes  place  in  the  autumn 
of  each  year,  consisting  ordinarily  of  young  men,  from  twenty 
years  of  age  down  to  thirteen.  These  students  are  united 
into  one  class,  and  commence  one  course  of  study,  which  ex- 
tends through  a  period  of  four  years.  During  these  four 
years  there  will,  of  course,  be  three  more  admissions,  making 
four  classes  and  ordy  four,  in  the  institution  at  the  same 
time 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  331 

The  first  day.  Temptations.  Varieties  of  character. 

The  large  buildings  which  I  have  alluded  to  are  divided 
into  rooms,  as  nearly  alike  as  possible  ; — eight  usually  upon 
a  floor,  and  consequently  thirty-two  in  all.  Each  one  of 
these  rooms  is  assigned  to  two  of  the  members  of  the  class 
admitted,  and  it  is  to  be  for  one  year  their  home.  The  first 
day  of  the  collegiate  year,  those  portions  of  the  building  as- 
signed to  the  Freshmen,  as  the  last  admitted  are  called,  ex- 
hibit a  scene  of  very  peculiar  and  striking  character.  The 
bustle  of  preparation, — moving  in,  and  putting  up  furniture, 
— the  interest  excited  by  the  novelty  of  the  mode  of  life  that 
these  novitiates  are  now  to  lead,  and  the  lingering  recollec- 
tions of  home,  left  perhaps  forever, — resolutions  of  diligence 
and  fidelity  in  the  course  of  study  before  them, — and  the  va- 
rious other  feelings  excited  by  the  new  and  strange  faces  and 
objects  around,  all  conspire  to  give  to  the  Freshman's  first 
day  at  college  a  marked  and  striking  character,  and  to  fill  it 
with  new  and  strong  emotions  which  he  never  can  forget. 

In  every  class  there  is  a  large  number  of  youthful  mem- 
bers, whose  parents'  situation  in  life  is  such  that  they  have 
been  the  objects  of  constant  attention  from  infancy,  and  have 
accordingly  been  early  fitted  for  college,  and  sent  to  the  in- 
stitution before  their  minds  are  sufficiently  matured,  and  their 
moral  principles  firmly  enough  established,  to  resist  the  new 
and  strong  temptations  to  which  they  are  henceforth  to  be 
^posed.  Others  are  older  and  more  mature.  Many  of  these 
have  prepared  themselves  for  college  by  their  own  exertions, 
and  have  entered  under  the  influence  of  strong  desires  to 
avail  themselves  of  its  privileges.  In  these  two  classes  may 
be  found  almost  every  variety  of  human  character.  Every 
virtue  and  every  vice  here  exhibit  themselves.  There  is  in- 
fidelity,— cold,  calculating,  malicious  infidelity,-  -establishing 
her  wretched  reign  in  the  bosoms  of  young  men  just  opening 
into  manhood.  There  is  vice,  secret  and  open,  of  every  spe- 
cies, and  in  every  degree.     There  is  intemperance  and  pro- 


332 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Dangers. 


The  progress  of  sin. 


■Miiiiiiiiii 


faneness,  and  hatred  of  religion,  and  an  open  and  reckless  op- 
position to  the  cause  of  God  and  holiness,  scarcely  ever  sur- 
passed by  the  animosity  of  any  veteran  foe. 

The  lines  between  the  enemies  and  the  friends  of  God  are 
thus  drawn  in  college  more  distinctly  than  in  almost  any 
other  community  ; — and  the  young  and  inexperienced  in  every 
new  class,  are  marked  out  by  the  idle,  dissipated,  and  aban- 
doned, for  their  prey.  The  victim  first  listens  to  language 
and  sentiments  which  undermine  his  regard  for  the  principles 
of  duty,  and  weaken  those  cords  which  Christian  parents  had 
bound  around  his  heart,  when  he  left  his  early  home ;  and 

he  soon  falls  more  and 
more  under  the  influ- 
ence of  these  ungodly 
companions.  Half  al- 
lured by  their  persua- 
sions, and  half  com- 
pelled by  their  rude  in- 
trusions into  his  room, 
he  spends  the  hours 
which  college  laws  al- 
lot to  study,  in  idle 
reading,  or  in  games  of 
chance  or  skill.  He 
first  listens  to  ridicule 
of  religious  persons,  and 
then  joins  in  it,  and 
next  begins  to  ridicule 
and  despise  religion  itself  The  oflicers  of  the  college  do  all 
in  their  power  to  arrest  his  progress.  They  see  the  first  indi- 
cations of  his  beginning  to  go  astray,  in  the  neglect  of  his 
studies,  and  in  the  irregularity  of  his  attendance  upon  college 
duties  ;  and  again  and  again  appoint  one  of  their  number  to 
warn  him,  and  expostulate  with  him,  and  kindly  to  put  him 


THE   INTRUSION. 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  333 

Efforts  to  reclaim  a  wanderer.  Daily  college  life. 


on  his  guard.  How  many  such  efforts  have  I  made  I  As  I 
write  these  paragraphs,  I  can  recall  these  interviews  to  mind 
with  almost  the  distinctness  of  actual  vision.  A  short  time 
after  sending  the  messenger  for  the  one  who  was  to  receive 
the  friendly  admonition,  I  would  hear  his  timid  rap  at  the 
door.  He  would  enter  with  a  look  of  mingled  guilt,  fear,  and 
shame,  or  sometimes  with  a  step  and  countenance  of  assumed 
assurance.  How  many  times  in  such  circumstances,  have  I 
tried  in  vain  to  gain  access  to  the  heart  !  I  have  endeavored 
to  draw  him  into  conversation  about  his  father  and  mother, 
and  the  scenes  of  home  and  childhood,  that  I  might  insensi- 
bly awaken  recollections  of  the  past,  and  bring  back  long  lost 
feelings,  and  reunite  broken  ties  I  have  tried  to  lead  him 
to  anticipate  the  future,  and  see  the  dangers  of  idleness,  dis- 
sipation, and  vice.  I  have  endeavored  to  draw  forth  and  en- 
courage the  feeble  resolution,  and  by  sympathy,  and  kind- 
ness, and  promises  of  aid,  to  bring  back  the  wanderer  to  duty 
and  to  happiness.  He  would  listen  in  cold  and  respectful 
silence,  and  go  away  unchanged  ;  perhaps,  to  make  a  few 
feeble  resolutions,  soon  to  be  forgotten  ;  but  more  probably  to 
turn  into  ridicule  the  moral  lecture,  as  he  would  call  it,  which 
he  had  received  ;  and  to  go  on  with  a  little  more  caution  and 
secrecy  perhaps,  but  with  increased  hardihood  and  rapidity, 
in  the  course  of  sin. 

In  many  cases,  college  censures  and  punishments  frequent- 
ly follow,  until  expulsion  closes  the  story.  In  other  cases,  the 
individuals  conceal  their  guilt,  while  they  become  more  and 
more  deeply  involved  in  it,  and  more  and  more  hardened. 
They  associate  with  one  another,  and  at  length,  in  some 
cases,  form  a  little  community  where  ungodliness,  infidelity, 
and  open  sin,  have  confirmed  and  unquestioned  sway. 

I  must  say  a  word  or  two  now  in  regard  to  the  ordinary 
routine  of  daily  life  at  college,  in  order  that  the  description 
which  is  to  follow,  may  be  better  understood.     Very  early 


334  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Morning.  The  prayer  bell.  Morning  prayers.  Recitations. 


in  the  morning,  the  observer  may  see  lights  at  a  few  of  the 
windows  of  the  buildings  inhabited  by  the  students.  They 
mark  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  more  industrious  or  more 
resolute,  who  rise  and  devote  an  hour  or  two  to  their  books 
by  lamp-light  on  the  winter  mornings.  About  the  break  of 
day,  the  bell  awakens  the  multitude  of  sleepers  in  all  the 
rooms,  and  in  a  short  time  they  are  to  be  seen  issuing  from 
the  various  doors,  with  sleepy  looks,  and  with  books  under 
their  arms,  and  some  adjusting  their  hurried  dress.  The  first 
who  come  down,  go  slowly,  others  with  quicker  and  quicker 
step,  as  the  tolHng  of  the  bell  proceeds  : — and  the  last  few 
stragglers  run  with  all  speed,  to  secure  their  places  before  the 
bell  ceases  to  toll.  When  the  last  stroke  is  sounded,  it  usu- 
ally finds  one  or  two  too  late,  who  stop  short  suddenly,  and 
return  slowly  to  their  rooms. 

The  President  or  one  of  the  professors  reads  a  portion  of 
Scripture  by  the  mingled  light  of  the  pulpit  lamps  and  the 
beams  which  come  in  from  the  reddening  eastern  sky.  He 
then  offers  the  morning  prayer.  The  hundreds  of  young  men 
before  him  exhibit  the  appearance  of  respectful  attention, 
except  that  four  or  five,  appointed  for  the  purpose,  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  chapel,  are  looking  carefully  around  to  ob- 
serve and  note  upon  their  bills,  the  absentees.  A  few  also, 
not  fearing  God  or  regarding  their  duty,  conceal  under  their 
cloaks,  or  behind  a  pillar,  or  a  partition  between  the  pews, 
the  book  which  contains  their  morning  lesson  : — and  attempt 
to  make  up,  as  well  as  the  faint  but  increasing  light  will  en- 
able them,  for  the  time  wasted  in  idleness  or  dissipation  on 
the  evening  before.  "When  prayers  are  over,  the  several 
classes  repair  immediately  to  the  rooms  assigned  respectively 
to  them,  and  recite  the  first  lesson  of  the  day. 

During  the  short  period  which  elapses  between  the  recita- 
tion and  the  breakfast-bell,  college  is  a  busy  scene.  Fires 
are  kindling  in  every  room.     Groups  are  standing  in  every 


THE    PARTING   PROmSE.  335 

The  breakfast  hour.       Study  hours.       The  idle  and  negligent.       The  afternoon. 

corner,  or  hovering  around  the  newly-made  fires  ; — parties  are 
running  up  and  down  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time,  with  all 
tht  ardor  and  activity  of  youth  : — and  now  and  then,  a  fresh 
crowd  is  seen  issuing  from  the  door  of  some  one  of  the  build- 
ings, where  a  class  has  finished  its  recitation,  and  comes  forth 
to  disperse  to  their  rooms ; — followed  by  their  instructor, 
who  walks  away  to  his  house  in  the  village.  The  break- 
fast-bell brings  out  the  whole  throng  again,  and  gathers  them 
around  the  long  tables  in  the  Common's  Hall,  or  else  scatters 
them  among  the  private  families  in  the  neighborhood. 

An  hour  after  breakfast  the  bell  rings,  to  mark  the  com- 
mencement of  study-hours ; — and  then  the  students  are  re- 
quired by  college  laws  to  repair  to  their  respective  rooms, 
which  answer  the  three-fold  purpose  of  parlor,  bed-room,  and 
study,  to  prepare  for  their  recitation  at  eleven  o'clock.  They, 
however,  who  choose  to  evade  this  law,  can  do  it  without 
much  danger  of  detection.  The  great  majority  comply,  but 
some  go  into  their  neighbors'  rooms  to  receive  assistance  in 
their  studies,  some  lay  aside  the  dull  text-book,  and  read  a 
tale,  or  play  a  game  ;  and  others,  farther  gone  in  the  road  of 
idleness  and  dissipation,  steal  secretly  away  from  college,  and 
ramble  in  the  woods,  or  skate  upon  the  ice,  or  find  some 
rendezvous  of  dissipation  in  the  village,  evading  their  tasks 
like  truant  boys.  They,  of  course,  are  marked  as  absent ; 
but  pretended  sickness  will  answer  for  an  excuse,  they  think, 
once  or  twice,  and  they  go  on,  blind  to  the  certainty  of  the 
disgrace  and  ruin  which  must  soon  come. 

The  afternoon  is  spent  like  the  forenoon,  and  the  last  reci- 
tation of  the  winter's  day  takes  place  just  before  the  sun  goes 
down.  An  hour  is  allotted  to  it,  and  then  follow  evening 
prayers,  at  the  close  of  which  the  students  issue  from  the 
chapel,  and  walk  in  long  procession  to  supper. 

It  is  in  the  evening,  however,  that  the  most  striking  pecu- 
liarities of  college  life  exhibit  themselves.     Sometimes  liter 


336  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Evening.  College  mischief.  Frequent  consequences. 

ary  societies  assemble,  organized  and  managed  by  the  students, 
where  they  hold  debates,  or  entertain  each  other  with  dec- 
lamations, essays,  and  dialogues.  Sometimes  a  religious 
meeting  is  held,  attended  by  a  portion  of  the  professors  of  re- 
ligion, and  conducted  by  an  officer  ;  at  other  times,  the  stu- 
dents remain  in  their  rooms,  some  quietly  seated  by  their  fire, 
one  on  each  side,  reading,  writing,  or  preparing  the  lessons 
for  the  following  morning — others  assemble  for  mirth  and 
dissipation,  or  prowl  around  the  entries  and  halls,  to  perpetrate 
petty  mischief,  breaking  the  windows  of  some  hapless  Fresh- 
man,— or  burning  nauceous  drugs  at  the  keyhole  of  his  door, 
— or  rolling  logs  down  stairs,  and  running  instantly  into  a 
neighboring  room  so  as  to  escape  detection ; — or  watching  at 
an  upper  window  to  pour  water  unobserved  upon  some  fel- 
low-student passing  in  or  out  below ; — or  plugging  up  the 
keyhole  of  the  chapel  door,  to  prevent  access  to  it  for  morn- 
ing prayers ; — or  gai'ning  access  to  the  bell  by  false  keys,  and 
cutting  the  rope,  or  filling  it  with  water  to  freeze  during  the 
night : — or  some  other  of  the  thousand  modes  of  doing  mis- 
chief, to  which  the  idle  and  fl.exible  Sophomore  is  instigated 
by  some  calculating  and  malicious  mischief-maker  in  a  higher 
class.  After  becoming  tired  of  this,  they  gather  together  in 
the  room  of  some  dissolute  companion,  and  there  prepare 
themselves  a  supper,  with  food  which  they  have  plundered 
from  a  neighboring  poultry-yard,  and  utensils  obtained  in  some 
similar  mode.  Ardent  spirit  sometimes  makes  them  noisy ; 
— and  a  college  officer,  at  half-past  nine,  breaks  in  upon 
them,  and  exposure  and  punishment  are  the  consequences  ; — 
disgrace,  suspension,  and  expulsion  for  themselves,  and  bleeding 
hearts  for  parents  and  sisters  at  home.  At  other  times,  with 
controlled  and  restrained  indulgence,  they  sit  till  midnight, 
Dwing  the  bitter  seeds  of  vice  ;  undermining  health,  destroy- 
ng  all  moral  sensibility,  and  making  almost  sure  the  ruin  of 
their  souls. 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  337 

EflForts  of  the  officers.         Their  fruitlessness.         Amherst  College  in  April,  1827. 

In  the  mean  time  the  officers  of  the  institution,  with  a 
fidelity  and  an  anxious  interest,  which  is  seldom  equaled  by 
any  solicitude  except  that  which  is  felt  by  parents  for  their 
children,  struggle  to  resist  the  tide.  They  watch,  they  ob- 
serve, they  have  constant  records  kept,  and  in  fact,  they  go 
as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  go,  in  obtaining  information  about 
the  character  and  history  of  each  individual,  without  adopt- 
ing a  system  of  espionage,  which  the  nature  of  the  institution, 
and  the  age  of  a  majority  of  the  pupils,  render  neither  prac- 
ticable nor  proper.  They  warn  every  individual  who  seems 
to  be  in  danger,  with  greater  and  greater  distinctness,  accord- 
ing to  the  progress  that  he  seems  to  be  making,  and  as  soon 
as  evidence  will  justify  it,  they  remove  every  one  whose  stay 
seems  dangerous  to  the  rest ;  but  still  the  evil  will  increase, 
in  spite  of  all  the  ordinary  human  means  which  can  be 
brought  against  it. 

Such  is  college,  and  such  substantially  was  the  condition 
of  Amherst  College,  in  April,  1827,  at  the  time  of  my  narra- 
tive. Faithful  religious  instruction  was  given  on  the  Sab- 
bath, at  the  chapel,  where  the  students  were  required  to 
attend,  and  we  were  accustomed  to  hold,  also,  a  meeting  for 
familiar  religious  instruction  one  evening  during  the  week. 
At  this  meeting,  however,  scarcely  any  were  present ; — a 
small  portion  of  the  actual  members  of  the  church  were 
accustomed  to  attend,  but  never  any  one  else.  If  a  single 
individual,  not  professedly  a  Christian,  had  come  in,  for  a 
single  evening,  it  would  have  been  noticed  as  a  rare  occur- 
rence, and  talked  of  by  the  officers  as  something  unexpected 
and  extraordinary.  Our  hearts  ached,  and  our  spirits  sunk 
within  us,  to  witness  the  coldness  and  hardness  of  heart  to- 
ward God  and  duty,  which  reigned  among  so  large  a  num- 
ber of  our  pupils.  Every  private  effort  which  we  could 
make  with  individuals,  entirely  failed,  and  we  could  see,  too, 
that  those  who  professed  to  love  the  Savior,  were  rapidly 

P 


338  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

A  student.      Letter  to  the  author.      Writer's  account  of  the  condition  of  college. 

losing  their  interest  in  his  cause,  and  becoming  engrossed  in 
literary  ambition  and  college  rivalry,  dishonoring  God's  cause, 
and  gradually  removing  every  obstacle  to  the  universal  prev- 
alence of  vice  and  sin. 

There  was  then  in.  college,  a  young  man,  who  had  been 
among  the  foremost  in  his  opposition  to  religion.  His  talents 
and  his  address  gave  him  a  great  deal  of  personal  influence, 
which  was  of  such  a  character  as  to  be  a  constant  source  of 
solicitude  to  the  government.  He  was  repeatedly  involved 
in  difliculties  with  the  officers  on  account  of  his  transgressions 
of  the  College  laws,  and  so  well  known  were  his  feelings  on 
the  subject,  that  when  at  a  government  meeting,  during  the 
progress  of  the  revival,  we  were  told  with  astonishment,  by 
the  President,  that  this  young  man  was  suffering  great  dis- 
tress on  account  of  his  sins,  it  was  supposed  by  one  of  the 
officers,  that  it  must  be  all  a  pretense,  feigned  to  deceive  the 
President,  and  make  sport  for  his  companions.  The  Presi- 
dent did  not  reply  to  the  suggestion,  but  went  to  visit  him ; 
and  v/hen  I  next  saw  him,  he  said,  "There's  no  pretense 
there.  If  the  Spirit  of  God  is  not  at  work  upon  his  heart, 
I  know  nothing  about  the  agency  of  the  Spirit." 

That  young  man  is  now  the  pastor  of  a  church,  active  and 
useful,  and  when  commencing  this  narrative,  I  wrote  to  him 
to  send  me  such  reminiscences  of  this  scene  as  might  remain 
upon  his  mind.     He  writes  me  thus. 

**  Very  dear  Sir, 

"My  obligations  to  you  as  a  friend  and  instructor  make  me 
anxious  to  fulfill  my  promise  of  drawing  up  a  sketch  of  the 
revival  at  Amherst  College,  during  the  last  two  or  three 
weeks  of  April,  1827.  I  have  been  delayed  partly  by  sick- 
ness, and  by  the  unusual  pressure  of  my  duties  here,  partly 
by  the  difficulty  of  settling  in  my  mind  a  clear  idea  of  what 
you  wish,  and  partly  by  the  impossibility  of  reviving  the 


THE    PARTING   PROMISE.  339 

Animosities  and  irregularities.  The  President's  efforts. 

memory  of  facts  and  impressions  in  the  exact  order  of  their 
occurrence.  If  this  communication  should  reach  you  too  late 
to  answer  your  purpose,  it  will  at  least  prove  my  wish  to 
yield  you  such  assistance  as  I  may. 

"  For  a  considerable  time  previous,  the  suhject  of  religion 
in  college  had  fallen  into  great  neglect ; — even  the  outward 
forms  were  very  faintly  observed.  During  nearly  two  years 
in  which  I  had  been  connected  with  the  college,  I  had  never 
heard  the  subject  mentioned  among  the  students,  except  as 
matter  of  reproach  and  ridicule.  At  least  this  is  true,  so  far 
as  my  intercourse  with  the  students  was  concerned.  Those 
who  professed  piety,  either  through  timidity  or  unconcern, 
seemed  to  let  the  subject  rest,  and  were  chiefly  devoted  to 
indolence  or  literary  ambition.  But  while  religion  was 
shamed  and  fugitive,  irrehgion  was  bold  and  free.  A  ma- 
jority of  the  students  were  avowedly  destitute  of  piety ;  and 
of  these  a  large  portion  were  open  or  secret  infidels ;  and 
many  went  to  every  length  they  could  reach,  of  levity,  pro- 
faneness,  and  dissipation.  So  many  animosities  and  irregu- 
larities prevailed,  as  to  endanger  the  general  reputation  of 
the  seminary. 

*'  Some  of  the  students  who  were  differently  situated  from 
myself,  may  perhaps  have  noticed  preparatory  movements 
on  the  common  mass  of  mind,  indicating  an  undercurrent  of 
feeling,  gradually  gaining  strength,  and  preparing  the  com- 
munity for  the  results  which  were  to  follow.  But  I  saw 
none  ; — and  none  such  could  have  been  generally  apparent. 
Upon  myself,  the  change  opened  with  as  much  suddenness  as 
power." 

I  here  interrupt,  for  a  moment,  the  narrative  of  my  friend, 
to  mention  all  the  indications  which  I,  myself,  or  my  brother 
officers  perceived.  The  President,  with  faithfulness,  and 
plainness,  urged  upon  the  professors  of  religion,  their  duties 


340  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Their  succesB.  Attention  arrested.  Interest  at  the  chape!. 

and  their  neglect,  and  held  up  to  them  the  evidences  that 
they  were,  as  a  body,  wandering  from  duty,  and  becoming 
unfaithful  to  their  trust.  But  he  had  done  this,  often,  before. 
In  fact,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  it.  The  difference 
seemed  to  be,  that  though  heretofore  they  would  listen  with 
stupid  coldness,  and  go  away  unchanged, — now  they  sud- 
denly seemed  inspired  with  a  disposition  to  hear,  and  with  a 
heart  to  feel.  They  began  to  come  in  greater  numbers  to 
the  meetings  appointed  for  them,  and  to  listen  with  silent 
solemnity  to  warnings  and  expostulations  which  had  been 
always  unheeded  before.  All  the  efforts  which  were  made 
were  aimed  at  leading  Christ's  followers  to  penitence,  and  at 
bringing  them  back  to  duty.  And  though  it  had  been  im- 
possible before,  it  was  perfectly  easy  now ;  and  while  this 
very  work  was  going  on, — actually  before  the  time  had  come 
for  thinking  of  the  others, — the  professing  Christians  began 
spontaneously,  or  at  least  to  all  appearance  without  human 
exertion,  to  tremble  for  themselves.  The  officers  and  the 
religious  students  were  astonished  day  after  day  to  find  num- 
bers whom  no  faithfulness  of  expostulation  had  hitherto  been 
able  to  affect  at  all,  now  coming,  of  their  own  accord,  and 
asking  for  help  and  direction ;  trembling  with  anxiety  and 
remorse  on  account  of  their  past  sins,  and  with  fear  of  God's 
displeasure.     But  to  return  to  my  correspondent. 

"  The  first  circumstance  which  attracted  my  attention 
was  a  sermon  from  the  President,  on  the  Sabbath.  I  do  not 
know  what  the  text  and  subject  were,  for  according  to  a 
wicked  habit,  I  had  been  asleep  till  near  its  close.  I  seemed 
to  be  awakened  by  a  silence  which  pervaded  the  room  :  a 
deep  solemn  attention  such  as  seems  to  spread  over  an  assem- 
bly when  all  are  completely  engrossed  in  some  absorbing 
theme.  I  looked  around  astonished,  and  the  feeling  of  pro- 
found attention  seemed  to  settle  on  myself.     I  looked  toward 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  341 

Impression.  Singular  plan  adopted  by  the  students. 

the  President,  and  saw  him  calm  and  collected,  hut  evi- 
dently most  deeply  interested  in  what  he  was  saying, — his 
whole  soul  engaged,  and  his  countenance  beaming  with 
an  expression  of  eager  earnestness,  which  lighted  up  all 
his  features,  and  gave  to  his  language  unusual  energy  and 
power. 

"  What  could  this  mean  ?  I  had  never  seen  a  speaker 
and  his  audience  so  engaged.  He  was  making  a  most 
earnest  appeal  to  prevent  those  who  were  destitute  of  reli- 
gion themselves,  from  doing  any  thing  to  obstruct  the  pro- 
gress of  the  revival  which  he  hoped  was  approaching — or  of 
doing  any  thing  to  prevent  the  salvation  of  others,  even  if 
they  did  not  desire  salvation  for  themselves.  He  besought 
them,  by  all  the  interests  of  immortality,  and  for  the  sake  of 
themselves,  and  of  their  companions,  to  desist  from  hostilities 
against  the  work  of  God. 

"  The  discourse  closed,  and  we  dispersed.  But  many  of 
us  carried  away  the  arrow  in  our  hearts.  The  gayest  and 
the  hardiest  trembled  at  the  manifest  approach  of  a  sublime 
and  unwonted  influence.  Among  some  who  might  have 
been  expected  to  raise  the  front  of  opposition,  I  resolved  not 
to  do  it,  but  to  let  it  take  its  course  : — keeping  away  from 
its  influence,  without  doing  any  thing  to  oppose  it ;  but  neu- 
trality was  impossible." 

I  must  interrupt  the  narrative  of  the  letter  again,  to  ex- 
plain a  circumstance  which  I  perceive  is  alluded  to  in  the 
next  paragraph.  About  a  year  before  this  time,  there  had 
been  similar  indications  of  a  returning  sense  of  duty  to  God 
among  the  students.  The  officers  were  much  encouraged, 
but  our  hopes  were  all  dispelled  by  the  success  of  a  manoeuver 
which  is  so  characteristic  of  college  life  and  manners  that  I 
will  describe  it.  The  plan  adopted  by  the  enemies  of  reli- 
gion was  to  come  up  boldly,  and  face  the  awakening  interest, 


342  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  evening  meeting.  The  intruders.  An  enemy  turned  to  a  friend. 

and,  as  it  were,  brave  it  down.  The  first  indication  of  this 
design  which  I  perceived  was  this.  I  had  been  invited  by 
the  serious  portion  of  the  students  to  address  them  one  Satur- 
day evening  in  a  recitation-room.  I  took  my  seat  in  the  great 
armed-chair  which  had  been  placed  for  me  in  a  corner,  with 
a  Bible  and  hymn-book  on  the  oval  leaf  or  tablet  attached 
to  it, — an  article  of  furniture  whose  form  and  fashion  any  col- 
legian will  recollect, — when  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked, 
one  after  another,  six  or  eight  of  the  most  bold,  hardened, 
notorious  enemies  of  religion  which  the  institution  contained. 
They  walked  in,  took  their  seats,  in  a  row  directly  before  me, 
and  looked  me  in  the  face, — saying  by  their  countenances 
most  distinctly,  "  Sir,  we  defy  you,  and  all  your  religion :" — 
and  yet,  it  was  with  that  peculiar  address,  with  which  a  wild 
college  student  can  execute  his  plans,  so  that  there  was  not 
the  slightest  breach  of  any  rule  of  external  propriety,  or  any 
tangible  evidence  of  intentional  disrespect.  Not  one  of  them 
had,  perhaps,  ever  been  voluntarily  in  a  religious  meeting 
at  college  before,  and  every  one  in  the  room  knew  it.  I  can 
see  the  leader  now,  as  distinctly  as  if  he  were  before  me  : — 
his  tall  form,  manly  countenance,  and  energetic  look.  He 
maintained  his  ground  as  the  enemy  of  God  and  rehgion, 
for  a  year  after  this  time  : — but  then,  his  eyes  were  opened  : 
he  prayed  with  agony  of  spirit,  hour  after  hour,  in  his  open 
room,  for  forgiveness ;  and  now  he  is  in  a  foreign  land 
preaching  to  pagans  the  Savior,  whom  I  vainly  endeavored 
on  this  occasion  to  bring  to  him.  I  do  not  know  whether 
this  description  will  ever  reach  him  ;  if  it  does,  he  will 
remember  the  meeting  in  the  Freshman  recitation-room, — 
and  be  as  bold  /or  God  Tiow,  as  he  was  then  against  him. 
He  has  been  so  already. 

After  a  few  similar  efforts  to  this,  the  irreligious  party,  for 
it  is  almost  a  trained  and  organized  party,  determined  to 
carry  their  system  farther  still.     They  accordingly  formed 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE  343 

A  strange  assembly.  Success  of  a  bad  design. 

a  plan  for  a  religious  meeting  from  which  every  friend  of 
religion  should  be  excluded.  They  circulated  the  informa- 
tion among  themselves,  taking  special  pains  to  secure  the 
attendance  of  every  one,  and  then,  one  evening,  after  prayers, 
as  the  officers  were  coming  out  of  the  chapel,  one  of  them  was 
astonished  at  being  accosted  by  two  well-known  enemies  of 
every  thing  like  piety,  who  appeared,  as  they  said,  from  some 
of  their  friends,  as  a  committee  to  invite  him  to  attend  a  reli- 
gious meeting  that  evening.  The  officer  promised  to  come  ; 
and  when,  after  tea,  he  repaired  to  the  room,  he  found  it 
crowded  with  persons,  whose  faces  he  had  never  seen  at  a 
voluntary  meeting  before.  There  they  sat,  the  idle,  the  dis- 
sipated, the  profane,  and  the  hater  and  despiser  of  God ; 
there  were  also  numerous  others,  moral  and  well-disposed, 
but  regardless  of  religious  duty ;  but  not  a  single  one  whom 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  see  in  such  a  room,  for  such  a 
purpose,  was,  on  this  occasion,  allowed  to  be  there. 

The  officer  addressed  them  faithfully  and  plainly,  urging 
their  duty  and  their  sins  upon  their  consideration,  while  they 
sat  still,  in  respectful  but  heartless  silence  ;  looking  intently 
upon  him,  with  an  expression  of  countenance  which  seemed 
to  say,  "  Here  we  all  are,  move  us  if  you  can."  And  they  con- 
quered. They  went  home  unmoved  ;  and  all  the  indications 
of  increasing  seriousness  soon  disappeared.  They  continued 
to  assemble  for  several  weeks,  inviting  the  officers  in  succes- 
sion to  be  present,  and  at  last,  the  few  who  remained,  con- 
ducted the  meetings  themselves,  with  burlesqued  sermons, 
and  mock  prayers,  and  closed  the  series  at  last,  as  I  have 
been  informed,  by  bringing  in  an  ignorant  black  man,  whose 
presence  and  assistance  completed  the  victory  they  had  gain- 
ed over  influences  from  above.  All  this  took  place  the  year 
before,  and  it  is  to  these  circumstances  that  the  next  para- 
graph in  the  letter  alludes.  \ 


iJ44  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  Hebrew  Bible.  The  President's  visit  to  the  awakened  student. 

"  It  was  probably  with  an  intention  somewhat  similar  to 
that  which  prompted  the  meetings  which  the  irreligious  stu- 
dents held  by  themselves  the  year  before,  that  the  following 
plan  was  formed.  A  student  who  was  temporarily  my  room- 
mate importim.ed  me  to  invite  one  of  the  tutors  to  conduct  a 
religious  meeting  at  my  room.  I  told  him  that  I  would,  if 
he  would  obtain  the  promise  of  certain  individuals,  ten  in 
number,  whom  I  named,  that  they  would  attend.  I  selected 
such  individuals  as  I  was  confident  would  not  consent  to  be 
present.  In  a  short  time  he  surprised  me  with  the  informa- 
tion that  he  had  seen  them  all,  and  that  they  had  consented 
to  the  proposal.  Of  course,  I  was  obliged,  though  reluctant- 
ly, to  request  the  tutor  to  hold  such  a  meeting.  Most  of  us 
repaired  to  the  place,  at  the  appointed  time,  with  feelings  of 
levity,  or  of  bitter  hostility  to  religion.  My  room-mate  had 
waggishly  placed  a  Hebrew  Bible  on  the  stand.  Whether 
this  circumstance,  or  the  character  of  his  auditory,  suggested 
the  subject  which  the  tutor  chose,  I  know  not : — but  after 
opening  the  meeting  with  prayer,  he  entered  into  a  defense 
of  the  divine  authority  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  from  external 
and  internal  evidence,  which  he  maintained  in  the  most  con- 
vincing manner  ;  and  then,  on  the  strength  of  this  authority, 
he  urged  its  promises  and  denunciations  upon  us  as  sinners 
The  effect  was  very  powerful.  Several  retired  deeply  im 
pressed,  and  all  were  made  more  serious,  and  better  prepared 
to  be  influenced  by  the  truth.  So  that  this  affair  '  fell  out, 
rather  to  the  furtherance  of  the  Gospel.' 

"  My  own  interest  in  the  subject  rapidly  increased,  and 
one  day,  while  secluded  in  my  apartment,  and  overwhelmed 
with  conflicting  emotions  of  pride  and  despair,  I  was  surprised 
by  a  visit  from  the  President.  He  informed  me  that  he  had 
come  with  the  hope  of  dissuading  me  from  doing  any  thing 
to  hinder  the  progress  of  the  revival.  After  intimating  that 
he  need  feel  no  apprehensions  on  that  point,  I  confess»^d  to 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  346 

The  mother.  Her  son's  letters.  The  Christian  mother's  encouragement. 

him  with  difficulty  the  agitation  of  my  thoughts.  Appa- 
rently much  affected,  he  only  said,  '  Ah,  I  was  afraid  you 
would  never  have  such  feelings.'  After  remaining  silent  a 
few  minutes,  he  engaged  in  prayer,  and  retired,  advising  me 
to  attend  a  certain  meeting  of  my  class-mates  for  prayer.  I 
felt  very  much  like  the  Syrian  general  when  offended  by  the 
supposed  neglect  of  the  prophet;  for  I  thought  he  would 
have  seized  tlie  opportunity  to  do  some  great  thing  for  the 
relief  of  my  laboring  mind. 

"  With  feelings  still  more  excited  I  repaired  to  one  of  my 
class-mates,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most 
consistent  Christians  among  us.  I  asked  him,  with  tears,  to 
tell  me  what  I  should  do  to  be  saved.  He  too  betrayed  his 
wonder,  and  only  resorted  to  prayer  with  me,  in  which  he 
could  do  little  but  say,  '  Jesus,  thou  son  of  David,  have  mercy 
on  ws.'  Long  afterward,  I  learned  that  when  he  left  me,  to 
join  a  circle  assembled  that  evening  for  prayer,  he  told  them 
that  my  inquiry  for  the  way  of  salvation,  made  him  feel  as  if 
he  needed  to  learn  it  himself" 

The  writer  of  the  narrative  which  I  have  been  transcrib- 
ing, had  then  a  mother  :  she  has  since  gone  to  her  home. 
She  was  a  widow,  and  he  her  only  child.  She  was  a  Chris- 
tian too,  and  her  heart  was  oppressed,  and  her  life  saddened, 
by  the  character  and  conduct  of  her  son.  He  wrote  to  her 
at  this  time,  and  among  her  papers  after  her  death  he  found 
his  letters,  and  has  sent  them  to  me.  I  wish  that  I  could 
put  them  just  as  they  are  into  this  description  ; — tattered  and 
■  torn  with  frequent  perusal.  Those  widowed  and  lonely 
mothers  among  my  readers,  whose  lives  are  embittered  by 
the  impiety  and  wild  irregularity  of  an  unconverted  son,  will 
understand  the  feelings  which  led  her  literally  to  wear  these 
letters  out  with  repeated  readings.  As  they  read  them,  let 
them  look  to  God,  and  take  courage,  and  remember  that  it 


346  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Suspense  relieved.  The  young  convert's  narrative. 

is  never  too  late  to  pray,  and  never  too  late  for  God  to  an- 
swer prayer. 

In  the  first  letter,  he  informs  his  mother  of  the  indications 
of  a  general  awakening  to  an  interest  in  religion  among  the 
students,  and  expresses  a  considerable  personal  interest  in  it. 
"  For  the  sake  of  the  institution,  of  religion,  and  for  my  own 
sake,  I  feel  most  anxious  that  the  work  may  go  on  with 
power.  With  what  joy  would  I  inform  you  that  I  felt  the 
strivings  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  my  breast.  But  I  can  only 
say  that  I  feel  a  growing  sense  of  humiliation  for  sin.  May 
it  ripen  into  conviction,  sincere  repentance,  and  unfeigned 
dedication  of  my  heart,  soul,  and  powers  to  God."  He  then 
asks  for  his  mother's  prayers,  and  thanks  her  for  all  her  past 
kindness  to  him. 

The  anxious  suspense  which  this  letter  must  have  occa- 
sioned to  the  parent  who  received  it,  was  dispelled  a  few 
days  afterward  by  the  following.  Before  perusing  it,  I  wish 
the  reader  would  look  around,  in  the  village  or  town  where 
he  resides,  fix  his  mind  upon  the  leader  in  all  the  opposition 
to  God  and  religion  which  is  made  there  ;  some  man  of  ac- 
complished manners  and  address,  superior  intellect,  and  ex- 
tensive influence, — and  the  open  and  avowed  opposer  of  piety 
and  all  of  its  professors.  You  must  have  such  a  man  in  mind 
as  the  writer,  in  order  to  appreciate  it  at  all.  Then  recollect 
that  it  is  from  an  only  son  to  a  widowed  Christian  mother, 
— ^transcribed  exactly  from  the  tattered  fragments  which  I 
now  carefully  put  together. 

"Amherst  College,  April  28,  1827. 
*•  My  dearest  Mother, 

"  Where  shall  I  find  words  to  declare  the  wonders  of  re- 
deeming love  ?  Even  in  my  low  state.  Almighty  God  has 
not  forgotten  me,  nor  the  prayers  of  my  pious  friends.  How 
can  I  describe  the  peace  of  mind,  the  swelling,  overwhelm- 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  347 

Narrative  continued. 

ing  tide  of  joy  which  results  from  an  entire  submission  to  a 
merciful  God  ?  1  can  only  say,  that  there  is  no  happiness 
like  the  happiness  of  a  heart  devoted  to  the  holy  pleasure  of 
its  Maker  ;  no  peace,  like  the  peace  of  a  mind  that  is  recon- 
ciled to  God.  At  the  beginning  of  the  present  week,  my  at- 
tention was  strongly  directed  to  the  importance  of  the  soul. 
I  immediately  relinquished  all  other  business,  and  devoted 
myself  to  this.  My  sense  of  the  justice  and  excellence  of  the 
divine  law,  of  the  holiness  of  God,  and  my  own  dreadful  and 
sinful  condition  rapidly  increased.  Tuesday  and  Wednesday 
my  distress  and  anxiety  grew  more  and  more  overpowering. 
Under  the  alarming  impression  that  I  had  committed  the  un- 
pardonable sin,  I  devoted  great  and  anxious  inquiry  to  the  na- 
ture of  it.  When  I  found  reason  to  believe  that  this  sin 
could  not  be  brought  up  against  me,  there  seemed  to  be  a 
gleam  of  hope.  I  felt,  or  rather  learned  that  I  must  be 
wholly  resigned  to  the  will  of  God,  yet  there  was  great  oppo- 
sition in  my  heart.  For  a  long  time  it  seemed  as  if  I  would 
readily  submit  if  I  was  only  sure  of  pardon.  I  was  making 
conditions  and  struggling  against  impressions,  and  became 
almost  desperate,  believing  that  my  guilt  had  shut  up  every 
avenue  of  hope.  The  conflict  had  prostrated  my  strength, 
and  could  not  have  been  maintained  much  longer,  when  I 
was  led  to  compare  my  situation  with  that  of  the  lepers  at 
the  gate  of  Samaria,  when  that  city  was  besieged  by  the 
Syrians  :  '  if  they  save  us  alive,  we  shall  live ;  and  if  they 
kill  us,  we  shall  but  die.'  If  I  continued  to  hold  out  against 
God,  I  should  surely  be  cut  off,  and  that  without  remedy  ; 
if  I  surrendered  myself  unconditionally,  and  with  an  undi- 
vided heart,  I  still  could  but  die,  while  there  was  every  reason 
to  hope  that  God  would  not  reject  a  heart  offered  in  sincerity 
and  truth.  Accordingly  I  struggled  to  obtain  this  frame  of 
mind,  and  at  length,  as  I  hope,  subdued  my  pride  and  hos- 
tility, so  as  to  melt  into  perfect  submission  to  the  will  of  God, 


348  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Narrative  continued. 


heartily  to  confess  the  holiness  and  justice  of  the  law,  and 
freely  acknowledge  my  own  unworthiness.  After  I  had  been 
enabled  by  the  divine  blessing  to  do  this,  it  seemed  so  reason- 
able, so  altogether  necessary  and  even  so  easy,  that  I  mar- 
veled at  the  blindness  and  hardness  of  heart  that  had  pre- 
vented my  doing  it  long  since.  At  the  same  time,  I  was 
filled  with  such  transport,  that  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  never 
could  leave  the  foot  of  the  cross  ;  as  if  I  wished  to  retire 
from  the  world,  and  meditate  and  reflect  on  the  loveliness  of 
Christ.  This  happy  change  took  place  about  Thursday  noon. 
The  period  of  my  greatest  mental  distress  was  Wednesday 
night.  Nature  was  so  exhausted  in  a  conflict  of  a  few  hours, 
that  I  could  scarcely  stand.  I  found  it  impossible  to  eat 
during  a  great  part  of  this  time.  The  flesh  is  still  weak,  but 
I  rapidly  recovered  strength  as  I  gained  peace.  I  now  for 
the  first  time  realize  what  is  meant  by  saying,  that  '  old 
things  are  passed  away  and  all  things  become  new.'  I  no 
longer  see  the  same  countenances,  read  the  same  Bible,  and 
feel  like  the  same  person.  All  my  acquaintances  are  entirely 
changed.  My  pious  friends  once  appeared  gloomy  and  re- 
served, now  they  are  benevolent  and  cheerful.  My  gay  ac- 
quaintances seem  no  longer  happy,  but  mad.  The  Book  of 
God  once  seldom  read,  or  when  read,  disrelished  or  misunder- 
stood, now  seems  replete  with  interest  and  instruction.  I  am 
filled  with  joyful  amazement  as  I  learn  from  it  the  love 
which  Jesus  has  manifested  for  the  world,  and  the  purity  and 
excellence  of  the  divine,  character.  At  the  same  time  it 
teaches  numerous  lessons  of  humility,  gives  an  odious  aspect 
to  sin,  and  warns  against  our  deceiving  hearts.  I  reflect 
with  horror  and  dismay  on  my  former  course  of  forgetfulness 
of  God,  and  feel  as  if  it  were  a  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  at- 
tempt, though  feebly,  to  pursue  a  totally  opposite  course. 
The  sense  I  have  of  my  former  character  makes  me  feel 
deeply  for  all  my  impenitent  friends.     I  feel  constrained  to 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE,  349 

Narrative  concluded. 

humble  myself  before  them  on  account  of  my  former  bad  ex 
ample  and  influence,  and  even  with  tears  beseech  them  to 
turn  from  their  sinful  ways  to  repentance  and  faith.  In 
short  I  feel  a  perfect  good-will,  I  hope,  to  all  the  world,  and 
banish  hatred  and  envy  from  my  heart  where  they  had  long 
been  cherished.  But,  my  dear  mother,  my  hope  is  with 
great  fear  and  trembling  ;  sometimes  it  seems  incredible  that 
such  an  one  as  myself  should  find  any  favor  with  God ;  and 
if  I  have  any  hope,  it  is  that  Jesus  Christ  might  show  forth 
in  me  all  long-suffering,  for  where  sin  abounded,  grace  doth 
much  more  abound.  Sometimes  T  feel  as  if  I  was  in  rebel- 
lion yet ;  but  I  do  not  rest  at  such  a  time  till  I  resign  myself 
anew,  and  without  reserve  to  my  Maker.  But,  dear  mother, 
I  would  that  much  fervent  prayer  might  be  offered  up,  that 
I  may  watch  my  heart  diligently,  and  consider  well  the 
ground  of  my  hope,  and  not  be  dangerously  deceived  ;  and  if 
I  find  myself  under  such  an  awful  mistake,  that  I  may  not 
rest  there,  but  give  myself  no  peace  till  by  sincere  repentance 
and  faith  I  may  be  reconciled  to  God  in  Christ.  On  the 
other  hand  if  it  should  seem  that  God  has  magnified  his  long- 
suffering  and  the  riches  of  his  tender  mercies  in  me,  pray 
that  I  may  be  strengthened  and  established  in  repentance  to- 
ward God,  and  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  and  that  I 
may  exercise  all  the  Christian  virtues,  and  walk  according  to 
the  law  of  God,  increasing  in  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  and 
growth  in  grace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost.  Oh,  my  dear 
mother,  on  you,  on  me,  and  on  all  the  world,  may  God  pour 
out  the  influence  of  the  Spirit,  to  guide  and  sanctify  us,  and 
fit  us  for  an  eternity  of  happiness  in  heaven.  I  would  wish 
to  write  much  more,  but  hope  to  see  you  next  Saturday  or 
before.     My  sincere  love,  and  prayers  to  and  for  all  friends. 

"  Your  affectionate  Son." 

I  have  thus  followed  out  this  particular  case,  in  order  to 


350  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Marks  of  genuine  feeling.  Religious  meetings. 

give  to  my  readers,  by  means  of  a  minute  examination  of  one 
specimen,  a  clear  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  changes  which 
were  effected.  There  were,  however,  many  other  cases  as 
marked  and  striking  as  this ;  so  that  any  person  who  was 
a  member  of  college  at  that  time,  might  be  in  doubt,  after 
reading  the  preceding  description,  which  of  half  a  dozen 
decided  enemies  of  religion,  who  were  at  this  time  changed* 
was  the  one  referred  to.  In  fact  the  feeling  went  through 
the  college  ; — it  took  the  whole.  Nothing  like  opposition  to 
it  was  known,  except  that  perhaps  in  a  very  few  cases  indi- 
viduals made  efforts  to  shield  themselves  from  its  influence  ; 
and  one  or  two  did  this  successfully,  by  keeping  themselves 
for  many  days,  under  the  influence  of  ardent  spirit !  With 
a  few  exceptions  of  this  kind,  the  unwonted  and  mysterious 
influence  was  welcomed  by  all.  It  was  not,  among  Chris- 
tians, a  feeling  of  terror,  of  sadness,  and  melancholy,  but  of 
delight.  Their  countenances  were  not  gloomy  and  morose, 
as  many  persons  suppose  is  the  case  at  such  a  time,  but  they 
beamed  with  an  expression  of  enjoyment,  which  seemed  to 
be  produced  by  the  all-pervading  sense  of  the  immediate 
presence  of  God.  I  have  seen,  in  other  cases,  efforts  to  aj)- 
pear  solemn, — the  affected  giavity  of  countenance,  and  seri- 
ousness of  tone  ; — ^but  there  was  nothing  of  that  here.  Hearts 
were  all  full  to  overflowing,  and  it  was  with  a  mysterious  min- 
gling of  peace  and  joy, — an  emotion  of  deep  and  overwhelming 
gladness  in  the  soul,  though  of  a  character  so  peculiar,  that  it 
expressed  itself  in  the  countenance  by  mingled  smiles  and  tears. 
The  ordinary  exercises  of  college  were  not  interrupted. 
The  President  held  two  or  three  religious  meetings  during 
the  week,  but  recitations  went  on  unchanged,  and  I  well 
recollect  the  appearance  of  my  mathematical  classes.  The 
students  would  walk  silently  and  slowly  from  their  rooms, 
and  assemble  at  the  appointed  place.  It  was  plain  that  the 
hearts  of  many  of  them  were  full  of  such  emotions  as  I  have 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE. 


361 


The  recitation-room. 


The  circle  for  prayer. 


described.  Others,  whose  peace  was  not  made  with  God, 
would  sit  with  downcast  eyes,  and  when  it  came  their  turn 
to  be  questioned,  would  make  an  effort  to  control  their  feel- 
ings, and  finding  that  they  could  not  recite,  would  ask  me  to 
excuse  them.  Others,  known  heretofore  as  hardened  enemies 
of  God  and  religion,  sat  still,  their  heads  reclined  upon  the 
seats  before  them,  with  hearts  overwhelmed  with  remorse 
and  sorrow,  and  eyes  filled  with  tears.  I  could  not  ask  them 
a  question.  One  morning,  I  recollect,  so  strong  and  so  uni- 
versal were  these  feelings,  that  we  could  not  go  on.  The 
room  was  silent  as  death.  Every  eye  was  down ;  I  called 
upon  one  after  another,  but  in  vain  ;  and  we  together  prayed 
God  to  come  and  be  with  us,  and  bless  us,  and  to  save  us 
from  sin  and  suffering,  and  then  silently  went  to  our  rooms. 

The  buildings  of  the  college  were  as  still  this  week  as  if 
they  had  been  depopulated.  The  students  loved  to  be  alone. 
They  walked  about  silently.  They  said  little  when  they 
met,  as  men  always  do  when  their  hearts  are  full.  Late  in 
the  evening  they  would 
collect  in  little  circles 
in  one  another's  rooms, 
to  spend  a  few  mo- 
ments in  prayer.  I 
was  often  invited  to 
these  meetings,  and  it 
was  delightful  to  see 
the  little  assembly 
coming  into  the  room 
at  the  appointed  time, 
each  bringing  his  own 
chair,  and  gathering 
around  the  bright  burn- 
ing fire,  with  the 
armed-chair  placed  in 


THE    MEETINO 


352  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


The  Tuesday  evening  meeting.  Solemnity. 

one  comer  for  their  instructor,  and  the  two  occupants  of  the 
room  together  upon  the  other  side.  They  who  were  present 
at  these  meetings  will  not  soon  forget  the  enjoyment  with 
which  their  hearts  were  filled,  as  they  here  bowed  in  suppli- 
cation before  God. 

On  Tuesday  and  Thursday  evenings  we  assembled  in  the 
largest  lecture-room,  for  more  public  worship.  It  was  the 
same  room  where,  a  few  weeks  before,  on  the  same  occasions, 
we  could  see  only  here  and  there  one  among  the  vacant, 
gloomy  seats.  Now  how  changed.  At  the  summons  of  the 
evening  bell  group  after  group  ascended  the  stairs  and  crowd- 
ed the  benches.  It  was  the  rhetorical  lecture-room,  and  was 
arranged  with  rows  of  seats  on  the  three  sides,  and  a  table 
for  the  Professor  on  a  small  platform  on  the  fourth.  The 
seats  were  soon  full,  and  settees  were  brought  in  to  fill  the 
area  left  in  the  center.  The  President*"  was  seated  at  the 
table  ;  on  either  side  of  him  the  Professors  ;  and  beyond  them, 
and  all  around,  the  room  was  crowded  with  young  men, 
hungering  and  thirsting  after  the  word  of  God. 

I  recollect  particularly  one  of  these  meetings.  It  was  one 
of  the  earliest  after  the  revival  commenced,  and  before  us, 
crowding  the  settees  in  the  open  area,  were  gathered  all  the 
wild,  irreligious,  vicious  and  abandoned  young  men  which 
the  institution  contained.  There  they  were,  the  whole  of 
them ;  all  enmity  gone,  opposition  silenced,  and  pride  sub- 
dued, and  they  sat  in  silence,  gazing  at  the  President,  and 
drinking  in  all  his  words,  as  he  pressed  upon  them  their  sins, 
and  urged  them  to  throw  down  the  weapons  of  their  rebel- 
lion, and  come  and  submit  themselves  to  God.  The  text  for 
the  evening,  if  I  recollect  right,  was  this,  "  Notwithstanding, 
be  ye  sure  of  this,  the  kingdom  of  God  has  come  nigh  unto 
you."  Every  person  in  the  room  felt  that  it  was  nigh.  The 
preacher  spoke  in  a  calm,  quiet,  but  impressive  manner,  and 
*  Rev,  Dr.  Humphrey. 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  353 

Sincere  and  honest  feeling.  The  sermon.  The  hymn. 

every  word  went  to  the  heart.  Many  persons  imagine  that 
preaching  in  such  a  season  is  loud  and  noisy,  and  set  off  with 
exciting  remarks,  and  extravagant  gesticulations ;  and  it  is 
so  sometimes,  when  men  attempt  to  make  a  revival  by  their 
own  power.  But  where  the  Spirit  of  God  really  comes,  there 
are  very  different  indications.  Every  one  feels  irresistibly 
that  God  is  there,  and  that  he  himself  must  walk  humbly 
and  softly  before  him.  The  almost  supernatural  power 
which  preaching  seems  to  have  at  such  a  time  is  the  power 
of  simple  truth  on  hearts  bowed  down  before  it  by  influences 
from  above.  Such  a  season  robs  eloquence  and  genius  of  all 
their  power ;  declamation  is  more  than  useless,  and  all  the 
arts  of  oratory  of  no  avail.  There  are  souls  awed  and  sub- 
dued before  God,  and  longing  for  the  light  of  truth  ;  and  he 
who  can  supply  these  desires  with  the  greatest  calmness,  and 
directness,  and  simplicity,  will  be  the  means  of  producing 
the  most  powerful  effects.  A  man  could  scarcely  give  utter- 
ance to  rant  and  declamation  and  noisy  harangue  in  such  a 
room,  even  if  he  had  come  all  prepared  to  do  it.  As  he 
should  enter  such  a  scene,  he  would  be  subdued  and  calmed 
by  its  irresistible  influence.  He  would  instinctively  feel  that 
noisy  eloquence  there  would  grate  upon  every  ear  and  shock 
every  heart,  and  no  bold  assurance  would  be  sufficient  to 
carry  him  on. 

We  listened  to  the  sermon,  which  was  earnest  and  im- 
pressive, though  direct,  plain,  and  simple  ;  it  told  the  ungodly 
hearers  before  us,  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was  nigh  them, 
and  urged  them  to  enter  it.  We  knew — we  could  almost 
feel  that  they  were  entering  it ;  and  when,  at  the  close  of 
the  meeting,  we  sang  our  parting  hymn,  I  believe  there  was 
as  much  real,  deep- flowing  happiness  in  that  small  but 
crowded  apartment,  as  four  such  walls  ever  contained. 

When  the  indications  of  this  visit  from  above  first  ap- 
peared, it  was  about  a  fortnight  before  the  close  of  the  term, 


354  '  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

Religious  character  of  the  converts. 

and  in  about  ten  days  its  object  was  accomplished.  Out  of 
the  whole  number  of  those  who  had  been  irreligious  at  its 
commencement,  about  one  half  professed  to  have  given  them- 
selves up  to  God ;  but  as  to  the  talent,  and  power  of  opposi- 
tion, and  open  enmity, — the  vice,  the  profaneness,  the  dissi- 
pation,— the  revival  took  the  whole.  With  one  or  two 
exceptions,  it  took  the  whole.  And  when,  a  few  weeks 
afterward,  the  time  arrived  for  those  thus  changed  to  make 
a  public  profession  of  religion,  it  was  a  striking  spectacle  to 
see  them  standing  in  a  crowd  in  the  broad  aisle  of  the  college 
chapel,  purified,  sanctified,  and  in  the  presence  of  all  their 
fellow-students  renouncing  sin,  and  solemnly  consecrating 
themselves  to  God.  Seven  years  have  since  elapsed,  and 
they  are  in  his  service  now.  I  have  their  names  before  me, 
and  I  do  not  know  of  one  who  does  not  continue  faithful  to 
his  Master  still. 

But  I  have  dwelt  too  long  perhaps  on  this  subject,  and  I 
must  close  this  chapter.  I  have  been  intending,  however, 
to  say  two  things  in  conclusion,  though  I  must  now  say  them 
briefly. 

1.  There  are  many  persons  who,  because  they  have  seen 
or  heard  of  many  spurious  and  heartless  efforts  to  make  a  re- 
vival of  religion,  accompanied  by  noise  and  rant,  and  unprofit- 
able excitement,  doubt  the  genuineness  of  all  these  reforma- 
tions. But  I  ask  them  whether  the  permanent  alteration,  in 
a  week,  of  nearly  all  the  wild,  and  ungovernable,  and  vicious 
students  of  a  college,  is  not  evidence  of  the  operation  of  some  ex- 
traordinary moral  cause.  We  who  witnessed  it  can  not  doubt. 
Such  cases,  too,  are  not  uncommon.  They  occur  constantly, 
all  over  our  land,  producing  entire  changes  in  neighborhoods 
and  villages,  and  towns,  and  very  often  in  colleges.  The 
effect  in  this  case  upon  the  police  of  the  institution  was  aston- 
ishing.    Before  the  revival,  the  officers  of  the  institution  were 


THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  355 

These  changes  the  work  of  God.  Witnessed  by  thousands.  Counterfeits. 

harassed  and  perplexed  with  continual  anxiety  and  care, 
from  the  turbulence  and  vice  of  their  pupils.  But  from  this 
time  we  had  scarcely  any  thing  to  do  in  respect  to  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  institution.  Month  after  month,  every  thing 
went  smoothly  and  pleasantly,  and  we  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  provide  instruction  for  industrious,  faithful,  and  regular 
young  men  ;  while  before,  the  work  of  punishing  misdemean- 
ors, and  repressing  disorder,  and  repairing  injuries,  demanded 
far  the  greatest  portion  of  our  attention  and  care.  Similar 
changes  have  often  been  produced  in  other  communities,  and 
the  fact  that  so  many  persons  have  thus  had  the  opportunity 
personally  to  witness  them,  is  the  real  ground  of  the  convic- 
tion which  almost  universally  prevails,  among  the  most  intel- 
ligent and  substantial  portions  of  the  community,  that  they 
are  the  work  of  God.  That  there  will  be  some  counterfeits 
is  to  be  expected.  As  human  nature  is,  it  is  certain.  But 
we  ought,  when  convinced  that  there  are  counterfeits,  not  to 
condemn  all,  but  carefully  to  discriminate,  and  to  bring  be- 
fore the  world  the  marks  of  a  counterfeit  as  distinctly  as  pos- 
sible, so  that  nothing  but  what  is  genuine  may  obtain  credit 
among  mankind. 

2.  Reader,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  having  the  heart  filled 
with  peace  and  joy,  under  the  influence  of  the  Spirit  of  God. 
Do  not  doubt  it,  if  you  have  not  yourself  experienced  it,  and 
do  not  forget  it  if  you  have.  The  mysterious  influence  shows 
itself  in  many  ways.  It  whispers  to  the  soul  sometimes  in 
solitude,  at  midnight,  and  beckons  it  away  from  the  world 
to  God  and  duty.  The  morning  light,  and  the  return  of  busi- 
ness and  pleasures  silence  it,  perhaps, — but  then  it  will  re- 
turn in  sickness,  in  affliction,  and  sorrow,  and  say  to  the 
spirit,  still  lingering  about  the  world,  "  Come  away,  come 
away."  It  may  be  disregarded  still, — but  it  will  hover 
near,  and  like  a  dove  unwilling  to  leave  its  master,  will  flut- 
ter around  "vjad  light  upon  him  again  and  again.     It  melts 


356  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Influences  of  the  Spirit  The  C!omforter. 

the  soul  into  penitence  for  sins  which  have  been  thought  of 
with  cold  insensibility  for  years, — it  subdues  stubbornness 
and  pride, — it  removes  the  vail  from  before  the  tomb,  and 
brings  God,  and  the  judgment,  and  heaven  to  view.  It  gives 
life  and  sensibility  to  the  torpid  soul,  and  awakens  its  powers 
again, — it  nerves  the  weak,  humbles  the  proud,  breaks  the 
chains  and  fetters  of  sin,  and  under  its  magic  power,  the 
hardened,  rebellious,  stupid  enemy  of  God  rises  to  life  and  tc 
freedom.  His  restless,  feverish  anxiety  is  gone,  joy  gladdens 
his  heart,  hope  beams  in  his  eye,  and  he  comes  to  his  Savior, 
subdued,  altered,  purified,  forever.  Blessed  Spirit,  thou  art 
indeed  the  light  and  life  of  man ; — the  only  real  Comforter, 
in  this  vale  of  sorrow  and  sin.  We  will  pray  for  thee,  and 
open  our  hearts  to  thee,  and  welcome  thy  coming.  Descend, 
heavenly  influence,  descend  everywhere,  and  bring  this  sin- 
ning and  suffering  world  back  to  its  duty. 


THE    CONCLUSION.  367 


Various  classes  of  readers.  Address  to  the  few. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE     CONCLUSION. 
"  If  ye  know  these  things,  happy  are  ye  if  ye  do  them." 

The  question  which  ought  to  arise  in  the  mind  of  every 
reader,  as  he  draws  toward  the  close  of  a  religious  book,  is 
this :  "  What  practical  effect  is  this  work  to  produce  upon 
my  mind  ?"  The  question  is  generally  very  easily  answered. 
Some  read  from  mere  curiosity  ; — some  to  beguile  weary 
hours  ; — some  to  be  able  to  say  that  they  have  read  what 
their  friends  and  acquaintances  have  been  reading.  One 
man  goes  over  the  chapters  of  such  a  work  as  this,  thinking 
all  the  time  how  its  truths  will  apply  to  his  neighbors ;  an- 
other scrutinizes  paragraph  after  paragraph,  to  discover  if 
possible  whether  the  writer  believes  in  this  theory  or  that, 
or  to  determine  the  religious  party  with  which  he  is  to  be 
classed  ;  and  a  third,  though  he  may  attend  to  the  practical 
bearings  and  relations  of  the  subject,  is  thinking,  all  the  time, 
of  other  persons,  in  applying  them.  This  chapter  he  appro- 
riates  to  his  wife, — another  to  his  child,  and  another  he 
thinks  admirably  adapted  to  the  spiritual  condition  of  his 
neighbor.  The  number  of  readers  who  take  up  a  religious 
book  honestly  and  sincerely  to  promote  their  own  personal 
piety  is  very  small. 

Still  there  are  a  few ;  and  it  is  to  these  few  that  the  re- 
maining pages  of  this  work  ought  now  to  be  devoted.  There 
are  a  few,  who  really  read  with  reference  to  the  supply  of 


358  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Very  few  really  accessible.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  Christian." 

their  own  spiritual  wants.  It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that 
all  of  them  have  a  sincere  and  honest  desire  to  know  and  to 
do  their  duty,  but  they  have  at  least  some  personal  interest 
in  it.  If  they  are  not  really  prepared  to  take  the  right  course, 
at  least  the  question  whether  they  will  take  it  or  not  comes 
up  to  view.  It  comes  up  in  the  light  of  a  personal  question 
which  they  at  least  consider.  Others  read  without  admitting 
the  claims  of  personal  duty,  even  to  a  hearing.  The  intel- 
lect, the  imagination,  the  taste,  are  perhaps  in  an  accessible 
position  ;  but  the  conscience  and  all  the  moral  powers  are 
far  within, — protected  from  all  attack, — every  avenue  seal- 
ed,— and  every  channel  of  communication  cut  off,  so  that  the 
moral  slumber  can  not  be  disturbed.  It  is  those  only  who 
are  accessible,  that  we  have  to  address  in  the  few  pages  that 
now  remain. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  perplexity  often  felt,  by  a  class  of 
thoughtful,  serious-minded  persons,  in  regard  to  the  diffi- 
culties which  stand  in  the  way  of  their  own  personal 
salvation.  They  wish  to  become  Christians,  they  say,  but 
there  seems  to  be  some  mysterious  yet  irresistible  agency 
which  keeps  them  back  in  the  coldness  and  wretchedness 
of  sin.  In  such  cases  there  is  perhaps  a  wish,  a  sincere  wish 
of  a  certain  kind,  to  become  a  Christian ;  but  it  remains 
inert  and  powerless  in  their  hearts  ;  it  does  not  lead  them  to 
piety  itself,  and  they  feel  and  act  as  if  there  were  some 
mysterious  obstacle  to  their  obtaining  what  they  sincerely  and 
honestly  desire. 

The  two  great  elementary  principles  of  religion  are  these ; 
the  duty  of  strong,  benevolent  interest  in  every  fellow-being, 
and  of  submission  and  gratitude  toward  the  Supreme.  Jesus 
Christ  has  said  that  these  constitute  the  foundation  on  which 
all  real  religion  rests ;  and  it  is  difficult  to  find  words  to  ex- 
press the  perfect  adaptation  of  these  principles  to  the  purposes 


THE    CONCLUSION.  359 


Two  great  principles  of  duty ;  \miversal  and  unquestionable. 

of  a  great  moral  government, — their  admirable  tendency  to 
secure  universal  order  and  happiness.  There  is  not  a  states- 
man or  philosopher  on  the  globe  who  can  improve  upon  them, 
nor  a  savage  low  enough  not  to  perceive  their  moral  beauty 
and  grandeur.  They  are  the  golden  chain  to  bind  all  God's 
creatures  to  one  another,  and  to  him  ;  complete, — for  there 
is  no  other  principle  of  duty  which  can  even  claim  to  be 
ranked  with  them ;  unrivaled, — for  no  other  system  can  be 
proposed  which  would  even  promise  to  secure  the  results  of 
this ;  and  undeniable  in  their  excellence  and  efficacy, — for 
never,  since  the  world  was  formed,  was  a  mind  so  perverse 
as  to  call  them  in  question.  They  can  not  be  called  in  ques- 
tion. No  person  can  doubt  that  a  moral  governor,  presiding 
over  moral  and  intelligent  creatures,  by  prescribing  such  rules 
as  the  fundamental  laws  of  his  empire,  takes  the  most  direct 
and  efficient  course  to  secure  universal  harmony  and  happi- 
ness. No  man  can  utter  a  word  against  them.  There  is  a 
feeling  within  him,  which  would  rise  up  and  silence  him,  if 
he  should  attempt  to  do  it.  They  stand  inscribed  by  con- 
science in  every  heart ;  reason  and  justice  and  truth  have 
set  their  seals  to  the  record  ;  and  there  they  must  stand  in 
characters  which  can  not  be  obliterated. 

But  though  mankind  can  not  question  the  excellence  of  the 
system  of  duty  which  God  has  established  for  his  creatures, 
they  can,  in  their  practice,  violate  it :  and  a  great  many 
pleasures  of  various  kinds  will  come  by  means  of  such  vio- 
lation. If  a  man  will  give  up  all  concern  for  his  neighbors' 
rights  and  happiness,  he  may  secure  some  new  indulgences 
for  himself,  in  consequence  of  it.  If  he  will  disobey  God,  he 
may  find  some  gratification  in  doing  what  he  has  forbidden. 
The  question  between  holiness  and  sin,  is  not  a  question 
between  unalloyed  happiness,  and  unmixed,  uninterrupted 
misery.  It  is  rather  a  question  between  two  sorts  of  pleasures. 
There  is  guilty  indulgence  on  one  side,  and  holy  peace  of  mind 


360 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Some  pleasure  in  sin.  Sin  preferred.  Supposed  desire  for  piety. 

on  the  other.  There  is  selfish  interest  or  aggrandizement 
beckoning  to  this  path,  and  the  happiness  of  doing  good,  in- 
viting to  the  other.  In  the  former  the  heart  may  secure  the 
feverish  but  real  delight  which  gratified  propensities  and 
passions  may  afford  ;  envy  and  anger  may  have  their  way, — 
revenge  may  be  allowed  its  intoxicating  triumph, — and  sin- 
ful p'easure  may  bring  her  sparkling  cup  ;  in  the  latter,  are 
the  peaceful  enjoyments  of  piety, — ^the  sense  of  protection, — 
the  hope  of  undeserved  forgiveness, — communion  with  God, 
and  heart-felt  interest  in  tlie  welfare  of  men.  Between  these 
two  classes  of  pleasures,  the  human  soul  must  make  its  choice, 
and  the  real  dificulty  in  the  way  of  the  salvation  of  men,  is, 
that  they  do  really  prefer  the  pleasures  of  sin  to  those  of 
holiness;  and  of  course,  if  they  enjoy  the  one,  they  must 
forego  the  other. 

Men  very  often  suppose  that  they  have  a  love,  a  desire  for 
piety,  while  yet  they  remain  in  sin ;  but  it  is  something  else, 
not  piety  itself,  which  in  such  cases,  they  love.  When  they 
look  directly  at  the  two  classes  of  pleasures  above  described, 
they  will  see,  if  they  are  honest,  that  they  do  deliberately 
prefer  the  former.  The  pleasures  of  sin,  in  some  form  or 
other,  look  alluring,  but  the  pleasures  of  holiness  do  not  look 
alluring.  The  dominion  of  sin  therefore  is  pleasant ;  the 
soul  loves  its  chains,  and  consequently  it  does  not  really 
desire  a  rescue.  The  feelings  therefore  which  it  sometimes 
cherishes,  are  of  a  different  character  altogether  from  a  real 
wish  to  escape  the  pollution  and  the  miseries  of  sin ;  for  the 
heart  has  scarcely  any  sense  of  its  pollution  or  of  its  miseries. 

There  seem  to  be  two  prominent  ways,  by  which  an  indi- 
vidual may  deceive  himself  in  supposing  that  he  wishes  to 
become  a  Christian.  These  we  ought  here  particularly  to 
describe ;  for  the  reading  of  a  religious  book,  if  it  presses 
plainly  the  principles  of  duty,  usually  awakens  these  false 
desires  in  many  minds.     I  can  not  but  hope  that  many  of 


THE    CONCLUSION.  361 


Influence  of  a  religious  booli.    First  ground  of  error.    The  thoughtful  young  man. 

those  who  will  have  perused  these  pages,  will  be  really  led 
to  see  sin  and  holiness  in  their  true  light,  and  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  be  led  to  choose  henceforth  the  path  of  duty,  But 
there  can  be  no  question  that  far  the  greater  part  of  those 
whose  hearts  are  accessible,  and  who  will  be  influenced  at 
all,  will  only  be  led  to  form  those  desires  which  are  always 
ready  to  spring  up  in  the  unrenewed  heart,  but  which  have 
only  the  form  and  appearance  of  a  love  for  piety. 

I  ought  not  perhaps  to  say,  that  religious  reading  forms 
those  desires  in  the  heart,  for  they  exist  already  almost  every- 
where, and  those  who  cherish  them  are  most  likely  to  be 
found  among  the  readers  of  a  work  professedly  exhibiting 
the  practical  bearings  of  religious  truth.  They  read  such  a 
work  as  this,  under  the  influence  of  these  counterfeit  desires, 
and  in  many  cases  the  only  effect  is  to  bring  out  those  desires 
to  a  little  greater  distinctness  and  vividness,  without  at  all 
altering  their  character.  Reader,  are  you  a  serious-minded, 
thoughtful  friend  of  religion, — looking  for  instruction,  and 
thinking  that  you  really  desire  a  renewed  heart,  and  the 
happiness  of  piety  ?  Consider  carefully  what  is  now  to  be 
said,  and  see  whether  you  have  not  been  mistaken  as  to  the 
nature  of  your  feeUngs. 

1.  The  first  kind  of  feeling  which  is  mistaken  for  a  love  of 
piety,  is  the  momentary  relief  which  the  mind  sometimes 
finds  in  religious  contemplation,  from  the  fear  of  the  punish- 
ment of  sin.  You  are  a  young  man,  and  from  early  infancy 
you  have  known  your  duty  to  God.  The  kind  and  faithful 
voice  of  a  father  or  mother  has,  during  all  the  long  years  of 
childhood  and  youth,  been  gently  endeavoring  to  win  you  to 
their  Master's  service,  but  in  vain.  You  have  chosen  sin, 
and  lived  in  it.  At  length,  however,  as  you  have  left  your 
father's  roof  and  have  come  out  into  the  world,  and  as  the 
years,  and  the  duties,  and  the  scenes  of  childhood  are  all  actual- 
ly past,  and  you  are  separated  from  them  forever,  you  begin  to 

a 


362  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Conscience;  recollections;  fears. 


realize  that  life  is  actually  passing  away.  Besides,  the  sins 
of  childhood  rise  to  your  remembrance.  Conscience  is  per- 
haps seared  in  respect  to  most  of  them,  but  there  are  a  few 
which,  when  they  rise  to  mind,  awaken  a  peculiar  bitterness 
of  remorse,  which  makes  you  shut  your  eyes  against  the  recol- 
lection, and  turn  away  from  it  as  soon  as  you  can.  It  is  one 
of  the  mysterious  principles  of  human  nature  that  same  of  its 
mortal  wounds  will  not  heal.  The  longer  the  man  lives,  the 
more  bitter  will  grow  some  of  the  recollections  of  early  guilt ; 
and  in  the  permanence  of  these  fountains  of  suffering,  which 
he  finds  he  can  not  close,  he  reads  a  lesson  which  his  fore- 
boding fears  press  very  strongly  upon  his  mind.  He  some- 
times trembles  to  think  that  all  his  other  wounds  may  only 
be  closed  superficially,  and  may  perhaps  be  gathering  in  his 
soul  secret  stores  of  remorse  and  suffering,  to  break  out  when- 
ever God  shall  speak  the  word.  That  this  is  the  case  in  fact 
with  all  merely  forgotten  sin,  no  careful  observer  of  the  hu- 
man heart,  or  reader  of  the  Bible  can  doubt.  The  class  of 
persons  that  I  am  describing  are,  however,  not  very  careful 
observers ;  they  do  not  really  believe  that  they  are  laying  up 
such  treasures  of  wrath, — ^they  only  suspect  it ;  they  now  and 
then  get  a  little  glimpse  of  the  power  of  past  guilt,  just 
enough  to  alarm  them. 

Besides  these  gentle  stings,  which  treasured  recollections 
of  guilt  sometimes  give  them,  as  if  just  to  remind  them  what 
vipers  they  have  in  their  bosoms,  there  is  the  voice  of  con- 
science murmuring  against  present  habits  of  transgression, 
and  foreboding  fears  warning  of  future  danger  ;  and  the  word 
of  God,  too,  confirming  and  sanctioning  both.  You  have 
perhaps  often  felt  these  anxieties  and  sufferings.  In  the  hour 
of  solitude,  when  peculiar  circumstances  favor  reflection, 
your  heart  is  thus  agitated  and  distressed  under  a  sense  of  its 
past  and  present  guilt.  You  look  at  religion,  at  reconcilia- 
tion with  God,  solely  as  a  way  of  escape  from  threatening 


THE    CONCLUSION.  363 


Soothing  influence  of  a  good  intention.  Loving  the  rewards  of  piety. 

danger.  You  form  a  vague  determination  to  seek  this  safety 
at  some  future  time,  and  this  intention,  as  it  affords  a  little 
gleam  of  hope,  brings  a  little  sensation  of  relief,  and  that  little 
feeling  of  relief,  arising  from  the  contemplation  of  the  safety 
of  piety,  is  mistaken  for  a  love  for  spiritual  joys  themselves. 

The  mere  thought  of  religion,  as  a  possible  future  posses- 
sion, brings  thus  very  often  a  feeling  of  relief  to  the  con- 
science, although  the  heart  may  not  in  the  slightest  degree  lose 
its  love  for  sin,  or  relax  its  hold  upon  it.  Conscience  is  bribed 
to  be  quiet  by  a  good  intention,  a  promise, — meant  to  be  ful- 
filled at  some  future  day.  Though  the  soul  loves  irreligion 
as  much  as  ever,  and  shrinks  back  as  much  as  ever  from  hum- 
ble, broken-hearted  penitence,  and  communion  with  God,  and 
faith,  and  spiritual  joy,  it  still  fancies  that  it  has  a  desire  for 
piety.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  Christian,"  it  says  ; — it  means,  "  I 
wish  I  could  escape  the  consequences  of  sin,  without  having 
to  give  up  its  joys." 

Header,  is  this  your  state  of  mind  ?  Do  you  wish  for  piety 
only  as  a  means  of  escaping  present  remorse  and  anxiety,  and 
future  danger,  while  you  still  wish  to  cling  to  sin  ?  The  way 
to  determine  whether  you  do  or  not,  is  to  withdraw  your 
thoughts  from  the  consequences  of  sin  and  holiness,  and  fix 
them  on  sin  and  holiness  themselves.  Does  the  idea  of  coming 
and  giving  yourself  up  wholly,  soul  and  body,  to  God,  look 
pleasant  to  you  ?  A  child  who  loves  his  father  will  take 
pleasure  in  bringing  his  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  where  his 
father  is,  that  he  may  do  it  by  his  side.  Now  does  the  idea 
of  bringing  your  work  every  day  to  your  father,  so  that  you 
may  always  be  in  his  presence,  working  by  his  side,  look 
pleasant  to  you  ?  Is  there  any  thing  alluring  in  the  idea  of 
examining  thoroughly  all  your  sins,  and  bringing  them  out 
before  God  in  complete  exposure  ?  Can  you  see  any  pleasure 
in  penitence,  in  submission,  in  a  feeling  of  utter  and  helpless 
dependence  on  God  ?     Do  you  like  the  idea  of  giving  up  your 


364  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Loving  piety  itself.  Influence  of  fear.  Undefined  fears. 

favorite  selfish  schemes,  and  coming  to  identify  yourself  with 
his  cause, — so  as  to  make  yourself  one  with  him,  in  object 
and  pursuit  ?  As  you  look  abroad  over  the  world,  and  see 
the  condition  of  the  human  race,  do  you  feel  like  embarking 
your  all  in  the  work  of  attempting  to  restore  it  ?  I  do  not 
mean  to  ask  whether  you  can  drag  yourself  up  to  these  du- 
ties,— ^whether  you  can  find  motives  enough  to  drive  or 
frighten  you  to  the  mechanical  performance  of  them. — But 
do  they  look  pleasant  to  you  ?  Does  the  enterprise  seem  al- 
luring and  agreeable  ?  These  are  the  questions  which  you 
ought  to  ask  yourself,  if  you  wish  to  determine  whether  you 
have  any  real  desire  for  piety.  It  is  not  enough  that  you 
should  have  anxiety  and  foreboding  fears  from  which  you 
find  a  partial  and  momentary  relief,  in  the  vague  intention 
of  one  day  beginning  to  serve  your  Maker.  The  safety,  the 
peace,  the  promised  rewards  of  piety,  of  course  look  alluring 
to  all  men.  The  great  question  is,  how  do  you  feel  about 
'piety  itself. 

In  regard,  thus,  to  a  very  large  proportion  of  those  who 
think  that  they  wish  to  become  Christians,  their  interest  in 
the  subject  amounts  substantially  to  this  ; — ^they  are  so  de- 
sirous to  escape  from  the  threatening  dangers  of  sin,  that 
they  are  almost  willing  even  to  take  religion  as  a  means  of 
escape.  How  much  love  for  piety  there  is  in  this  the  reader 
may  judge. 

A  person  can  not  safely  conclude  that  this  is  not  his  state 
of  mind,  simply  because  when  he  thinks  of  the  subject  he  has 
no  distinct  and  well-defined  fears  of  a  future  retribution.  It 
is  very  often  the  case  that  the  feelings,  from  which  the 
thought  of  religion  as  a  possible  future  possession  affords  a 
little  relief,  are  mingled  emotions  of  remorse  and  gloomy  fore- 
boding, which  present  to  the  mind  no  distinct  objects  of  dread, 
but  which  still  disturb  the  peace.  Now  it  is  plainly  of  no 
consequence  what  form  uneasiness  assumes ;  an  inclination 


THE    CONCLUSION.  365 


Fear  of  consequences  proper.  Desire  of  happiness. 

to  become  a  Christian,  based  in  any  way  on  a  desire  to  avoid 
uneasiness,  is  a  very  different  thing  from  loving  it  on  its  own 
account.  Do  the  duties  of  God's  service  look  alluring  to  you  ? 
If  they  do  not,  you  plainly  have  no  real  love  for  piety  ;  if 
they  do,  you  are  of  course  a  Christian,  for  to  love  these  duties 
and  to  perform  them  are  inseparable. 

Let  no  one  however  suppose  from  these  remarks  that  a  fear 
of  future  punishment,  or  a  desire  to  escape  the  uneasiness  and 
the  remorse  attendant  on  continuance  in  sin,  are  wrong. 
They  are  not  wrong.  The  Bible  everywhere  endeavors  to 
awaken  them  :  and  their  influence  ought  to  be  felt  by  every 
human  being  far  more  powerfully  than  they  are.  The  point 
urged  in  the  preceding  paragraphs  is  that  these  desires  alone, 
while  the  heart  revolts  from  piety  itself,  are  no  desires  for 
religion.  Let  not  therefore  the  young  disciple  who  is  just 
beginning  to  love  and  serve  his  Maker,  be  led  to  despond,  be- 
cause he  finds  himself  so  much  under  the  influence  of  a  de- 
sire to  get  free  from  the  burdens  and  dangers  of  sin.  You  do 
right  to  wish  to  escape  suffering  ;  you  do  right  to  act  under 
the  influence  of  that  wish.  Your  steps  should  be  quickened 
— ^your  ardor  and  alacrity  should  receive  an  impulse  from  a 
sense  of  the  greatness  of  the  dangers  from  which  you  are  en- 
deavoring to  fly.  The  question  is  not  whether  you  are 
driven;  but  whether  you  are  allured  as  well  as  driven. 
You  are  weary  of  present  remorse,  and  you  shrink  from  future 
suffering.  It  is  well.  Do  you  also  love  holiness  and  reach 
forward  to  it  as  in  itself  a  spiritual  treasure.  He  who  has 
real  desires  for  piety,  partakes  of  the  fears  and  anxieties 
which  agitate  him  who  has  not ;  but  he  has  love  and  hope 
besides.  The  one  is  like  the  disobedient  child  who  has  re- 
belled against  his  father,  broken  away  from  his  authority, 
and  gone  from  his  presence  ;  and  at  night  he  is  bewildered 
in  a  forest,  and  terrified  by  darkness  and  storm, — but  yet  he 
not  go  home.     The  former  is  another  son,  who  having 


366  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Second  form  of  false  interest  in  religion.  Tlie  evening  walk.  The  ocean. 

wandered  in  the  same  way,  is  equally  distressed  at  the  dan- 
gers which  threaten  him,  and  trembles  perhaps  even  more 
than  the  other  at  the  thunder  and  the  wind  ; — but  his  face 
is  toward  the  divelling  which  he  has  left; — his  heart  is 
melted,  and  he  longs  to  be  again  at  his  father's  side,  to  ask 
his  forgiveness,  and  once  more  to  be  happy  under  his  protec- 
tion.— Reader,  do  you  really  wish  to  return  ? 

2.  I  have  said  that  there  are  two  forms  of  interest  in  reli- 
gion, which  are  often  mistaken  for  sincere  desires  for  piety. 
The  first,  the  one  which  we  have  described,  may  be  called 
the  interest  of  anxiety,  the  second  that  of  poetic  taste.  There 
is  a  strong  poetic  interest  which  may  be  excited  by  many 
subjects  connected  with  religion,  and  on  this,  a  heart  may 
dwell  with  delight,  while  it  has  no  returning  sense  of  duty, 
no  relenting  for  sin,  and  nothing  but  dislike  for  the  actual 
service  of  God. 

It  is  the  refined  and  sensitive  mind  which  is  most  exposed 
to  this  danger, — and  this  too  generally  in  the  earlier  periods 
of  life,  when  the  imagination  is  active  and  vigorous,  and  the 
bosom  easily  swells  with  the  emotions  she  excites.  A  young 
man  of  such  a  character  rambles  at  sunset  on  a  summer 
evening,  on  the  sea-shore.  All  is  stillness  and  beauty.  The 
surface  of  the  water  is  smooth  and  glassy,  and  reflects,  even 
to  the  distant  horizon,  a  silvery  light.  On  this  liquid  mirror, 
here  and  there  a  verdant  island  seems  to  float,  doubled  by 
reflection,  and  around  some  distant  point  of  land,  a  boat 
plows  its  way,  the  sound  of  the  dip  and  impulse  of  its  oars 
coming  distinctly  to  the  observer's  ear,  across  the  smooth 
expanse  which  spreads  itself  out  before  him. 

He  gazes  on  this  scene  an  hour, — now  watching  the 
wheeling  of  the  sea-bird  in  its  flight, — now  tracing  the  line 
of  the  distant  shore,  following  it,  on  one  side,  to  the  lofty  and 
rugged  precipice  where  it  abruptly  terminates,  and  on  the 
other,  running  out  on  the   attenuated  sandy  point,  which 


THE    CONCLUSION. 


367 


Night. 


Clouds. 


glides  down  into  the  water  so  gradually  that  he  can  not  fix 
the  boundary  between  sea  and  land ; — and  now  watching, 
both  with  eye  and  ear,  the  ceaseless  regularity  with  which 
the  gentle  swell  of  the  water  foams  against  the  rocks  at  his 
feet 


THE    SEA-SHORE. 


Presently  he  perceives  a  zone  of  faint  and  almost  imper- 
ceptible shadow  rising  in  the  east, — the  dark  harbinger  of 
night ;  for  darkness  sends  forward  the  somber  signal  of  its 
coming,  into  the  same  quarter  of  the  heavens  which  beams, 
in  the  morning,  with  the  bright  precursor  of  the  day.  He 
looks  toward  the  western  sky,  and  Venus  shines  with  a  faint 
beam,  the  earliest  star  among  the  thousands  which  are  soon 
to  kindle  up  the  sky.  Clouds,  magnificent  in  form  and 
splendid  in  coloring,  float  in  the  sun's  last  rays.  Their  bril- 
liancy, however,  gradually  dies  away.     The  bright,  gilded 


368  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Stars,  Poetic  feeling.  The  romance  of  religion. 


edge  becomes  obscured, — the  crimson  and  the  purple  fade 
into  gray,  and  the  broad  and  splendid  expanse  of  air,  so  bright 
with  mere  reflection,  that  it  seems  like  a  flaming  curtain 
floating  in  the  sky,  loses  its  hues,  and  stars  shine  out  one  by 
one,  all  over  the  darkening  expanse.  The  gorgeous  mass  of 
cloud  too  in  the  horizon,  exchanges  one  glory  for  another ; — 
for  while  its  brilliant  colors  fade,  and  its  bosom  grows  dark, 
the  beaming  flash  of  lightning  now  and  then  faintly  spreads 
over  it,  revealed  by  the  very  darkness  which  robbed  the  cloud 
of  superficial  splendor. 

The  observer  of  all  this  sits  upon  the  rocky  shore,  in  a 
reverie  of  enjoyment.  As  a  mere  scene  of  physical  beauty, 
it  is  capable  of  making  a  strong  impression ;  but  the  poetic 
interest  which  it  excites,  is  greatly  increased  when  he  con- 
ceives of  the  Supreme  Divinity  as  presiding  over  this  scene, 
and  sees  his  skill  and  taste  in  every  beauty,  and  his  direct 
act  in  every  change.  He,  who,  in  contemplating  the  glories 
of  creation,  gives  Jehovah  his  proper  place  in  the  conceptions 
which  he  forms,  rises  far  above  the  mere  poet  or  philosopher. 
Bringing  in  life  and  intelligence  in  any  form,  always  exalts 
and  ennobles  a  scene  of  natural  beauty, — and  when  the  life 
and  intelligence  thus  brought  in,  is  the  great  God  and  Fa- 
ther of  all,  the  measure  of  moral  beauty  and  grandeur  is  full. 

Besides,  while  an  observer,  with  a  heart  capable  of  enjoy- 
ing such  a  scene,  thinks  of  the  Deity  as  presiding  in  it,  he 
can  find  much  poetic  interest  in  many  aspects  even  of  his 
own  relations  to  that  Deity.  He  reflects  that  the  Almighty 
power,  which  could  arrange  such  a  scene  as  that  around  him, 
and  give  to  the  whole  its  indescribable  power  to  touch  the 
human  heart,  can  never  be  at  a  loss  for  the  means  to  make 
his  creatures  happy.  He  gazes  into  the  lofty  sky,  and  the 
extent  and  splendor  of  the  view  give  him  some  faint  concep- 
tion of  the  immensity  of  the  community  over  which  God 
presides.     He  thinks  of  this  little  world  as  a  revolted  prov- 


THE    CONCLUSION.  369 

Holiness.  These  feelings  not  wrong ;  only  insufScient  of  themselves. 

ince ;  and  as  he  fancies  that  allegiance  and  harmony  and 
happiness  reign  in  all  the  bright  regions  before  him,  his  heart 
swells  with  a  sort  of  chivalrous  desire  to  join  the  minority 
here,  in  their  efforts  to  restore  Jehovah's  reign.  Tlie  spirit 
which  rises  in  his  breast  is  that  of  romance, — of  chivalry. 
If  God's  kingdom  were  a  political  or  a  military  one,  he  would 
press  forward  at  once  to  its  banner.  But,  alas, — it  is  a  king- 
dom of  holiness.  To  enter  it  he  must  come  down  from 
his  high  imaginations,  and  go  to  work  in  penitence  and 
humility  among  the  corruptions  of  his  own  heart, — and  this 
he  can  not  do.  He  can  admire  and  love  magnificence, 
whether  natural  or  moral,  but  he  has  no  heart  for  inward 
purity. 

In  the  case  which  I  have  supposed,  the  poetic  feeling 
which  has  invested  some  of  the  aspects  of  religion  with  a 
charm,  is  very  strongly  marked.  It  seldom  exists  so  distinct- 
ly, and  occupies  the  soul  so  exclusively,  as  in  the  case  which 
I  have  described.  This  play  of  the  imagination  is  more 
frequently  mingled  with  other^  feelings,  and  some  careful 
discrimination  is  necessary  to  ascertain  how  far  the  heart  is 
under  its  influence.  Here  however  I  ought  to  give  a  similar 
caution  to  the  one  annexed  to  the  preceding  head ;  that  is, 
a  caution  to  guard  the  reader  against  supposing  that  the 
feelings  which  I  have  thus  described  are  wrong.  They  are 
not  wrong,  when  united  with  penitence  and  faith.  Alone, 
they  are  insufficient.  They  may  properly  mingle  with  piety, 
though  they  can  never  constitute  it. 

No  renewed  mind  whatever,  unless  it  is  enveloped  in  hope- 
less stupidity,  can  look  upon  the  ever-varied  scene  of  beauty 
and  grandeur  which  is  presented  to  us  here,  without  some 
such  swelling  emotions  of  joy  that  God,  the  Maker  of  all,  is 
his  father  and  friend.  Let  no  one  conclude,  therefore,  be- 
cause he  can  perceive  such  feelings  in  his  heart,  that  there- 
fore  all  his  interest  in  piety  is  of  the  wrong  kind.     The 


370  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Inward  purity.  Wishing  to  be  a  Christiau. 

question  is  not,  whether  you  have  these  feelings,  but  whether 
you  have  any  besides  these.  You  love  the  magnificence  of 
nature, — the  beauties  of  the  morning, — ^the  splendor  of  the 
sky, — the  roaring  of  the  ocean, — and  the  terrific  sublimity 
of  the  midnight  storm.  You  enjoy  the  contemplation  of  God, 
when  you  consider  him  as  the  presiding  power  which  rules 
over  all  these  scenes.  All  this  is  well.  But  do  you  also 
love,  and  long  for  inward  purity  ?  Do  the  feelings  of  peni- 
tence, and  faith,  and  humble  child-like  submission,  appear 
to  you  as  spiritual  treasures,  which  you  earnestly  desire  to 
bring  home  more  and  more  iully  to  your  soul ; — or  do  you 
loathe  them,  and  wish  to  be  free  to  live  and  act  and  feel  as 
you  have  done  ?  If  the  latter  is  the  case,  you  must  not  mis- 
take any  serious  thoughts  or  deep  emotions  which  you  may 
feel,  for  real  desires  for  piety. 

There  can  not  be  any  obstacle  whatever  in  the  way  of  a 
return  to  God  and  to  duty,  when  the  heart  really  desires  the 
return.  Wishing  for  communion  with  God,  reconciliation 
to  him,  forgiveness  for  the  past,  and  guidance  and  protection 
for  the  future,  implies  every  Christian  grace  ;  and  where  the 
heart  really  feels  such  desires,  it  must,  in  some  degree  at 
least,  experience  the  fruition. 

And  yet  no  idea  is  more  common  than  that  a  person  re- 
maining impenitent,  may  wish  to  be  a  Christian.  You  think, 
perhaps,  my  reader,  that  this  is  your  case.  You  wish  that 
you  were  a  Christian,  you  say ;  but  the  way  is  dark  before 
you.  There  is  some  mysterious  obstacle  which  you  can  not 
overcome.  But  reflect  a  moment,  and  you  will  see  how  im- 
possible it  is  that  there  should  be  any  such  obstacle.  It 
can  not  be  in  your  hearts  ; — for  the  difficulty  in  the  heart 
must  have  been  surmounted  before  you  could  have  any  real 
love  for  piety.  It  can  not  be  any  compulsion,  or  physical 
restraint  from  without ; — ^for  such  causes  can  not  control  the 
movements  of  the  human  soul.     It  can  not  be  in  God  : — for 


THE    CONCLUSION.  371 


Diflacultiea  removed.  Discrimination.  Common  errors. 

he  surely  wishes  to  have  all  those  come  to  him  who  would 
love  his  service.  It  can  not  exist  at  all.  If  you  wish  to  be 
the  Lord's,  he  is  all  ready  to  receive  you.  If  you  think  that 
you  should  be  happy  as  a  subject  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
the  way  is  all  open  before  you  to  enter  it.  Go  on.  In  be- 
ginning to  love  piety,  if  you  have  for  it  any  love  at  all,  you 
have  passed  by  all  the  barriers  which  obstructed  your  way. 
You  have  henceforth  only  to  drink  as  freely  as  you  please  of 
the  waters  which  you  say  you  love. 

It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  many  persons  imagine  that 
they  wish  to  be  Christians,  when  in  fact  they  have  only  one 
of  the  two  forms  of  religious  interest  which  have  been  just 
described.  There  are  some,  however,  who  really  feel  desires 
which  rest  upon  God  as  their  object,  and  who  yet  find,  as  we 
have  already  intimated,  these  desires  so  mingled  with  other 
feelings,  and  even  so  absorbed  in  them,  that  they  live  in  con- 
stant despondency,  and  sometimes  sink  almost  to  despair. 
Others  shut  their  eyes  to  the  worldly  motives  which  mingle 
with  their  purer  desires,  and  imagine  that  all  their  ardent 
interest  is  holy  zeal  for  God ; — and  they  press  on,  with  a 
proud  and  careless  step,  till  they  are  humbled  by  an  unex- 
pected fall.  Thus  they  err  on  opposite  extremes.  Neither  is 
careful  to  separate  the  mingled  feelings  and  desires  which 
reign  within  him  ;  but  one  calls  them  all  right,  and  the  other 
all  wrong.  Guard  against  this  mistake.  Make  some  dis- 
crimination, and  ask  yourself  whether  you  have  any  real  de- 
sires resting  on  union  with  God. 

This  work  will  fail  of  its  design,  if  it  shall  not  be  the 
means  of  leading  some,  at  least,  of  its  readers  to  these  right 
desires.  If  among  all  who  shall  read  the  volume,  there  is 
one  who  is  led  by  it  to  seek  God,  and  is  now,  as  he  draws 
toward  the  last  page  of  it,  resolved  to  live  no  longer  in  sin, 
but  to  enter  into  the  service  of  his  Maker,  I  can  not  more 


372  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


To  the  Reader.       Various  directions  to  a  new  convert.      Openness.      Humility. 

appropriately  close  this  chapter  than  by  devoting  the  few  re- 
maining paragraphs  in  giving  a  few  parting  words  to  him. 
Reader,  are  you  this  individual  ?  Have  you,  as  you  have 
passed  on  from  chapter  to  chapter  of  this  work,  seen  your  sins, 
— felt  your  need  of  a  Redeemer, — desired  forgiveness  in  his 
name, — and  felt  some  rising  emotions  of  gratitude  at  the 
thought  of  the  sufferings  which  he  endured  for  you  ?  Are 
you  ready  to  enter  God's  service  ?  If  so,  listen  attentively  to 
these  my  parting  words. 

1.  Become  wholly  a  Christian,  if  you  mean  to  become  one 
at  all.  Do  not  attempt  to  come  and  make  half  a  peace 
with  God,  or  to  seek  a  secret  reconciliation.  If  you  have 
been  in  sin,  renounce  it  entirely.  If  you  have  been  in 
error,  abandon  it  openly.  Do  not  be  ungrateful  or  cowardly 
enough  to  wish  to  conceal  your  new  attachment  to  the  cause 
of  God,  or  to  avoid  an  acknowledgment  that  you  have  been 
in  the  wrong.  Take  the  side  of  God  and  duty  openly,  dis- 
tinctly, fearlessly.  This  is  your  duty ; — and,  besides,  it  is 
your  happiness.  A  half  Christian  is  always  a  very  unhappy 
one. 

2.  Be  a  humble  Christian.  Do  not  fancy  yourself  an  ex- 
traordinary instance  of  religious  zeal,  or  look  down  with 
affected  wonder  on  the  supposed  inferiority  of  those  who  have 
been  longer  in  their  Master's  service  than  you.  You  may  be 
as  ardent,  as  devoted,  as  pure  and  holy  as  you  please  ;  but 
do  not  draw  comparisons  between  yourself  and  others,  till 
you  have  been  tried  a  little.  Remember  that  the  evidence 
of  piety  is  chiefly  its  fruits,  and  that  well-grounded  assurance 
can  come  only  after  years  of  devoted,  and  tried,  and  proved 
attachment  to  God. 

3.  Remember  that  your  chief  duty  is,  for  some  time  to 


THE    CONCLUSION.  373 


Metaphysical  difficulties.  The  precise  time  of  conTersion. 

come,  with  your  own  heart.  Look  within,  and  make  every 
thing  right  there.  It  is  of  fundamental  importance,  how- 
ever, that  when  you  look  within,  you  do  it,  guided  by  the 
principles  of  the  Bible  and  of  common  sense,  and  not  by  those 
of  speculation  and  metaphysical  philosophy.  Try  to  see  that 
your  heart  is  right ;  endeavor  to  cultivate  the  plain  and  un- 
questionable characteristics  of  piety ; — ^but  do  not  lose  your- 
self in  mystical  speculations  about  the  nature  of  regeneration, 
-or  in  vain  attempts  to  analyze  and  comprehend  what  will 
certainly  elude  your  grasp. 

A  great  number  of  young  converts,  instead  of  entering  im- 
mediately into  the  service  of  God,  cultivating  the  spirit  of 
piety,  and  endeavoring  to  do  common  and  practical  good, 
seem  immediately  to  turn,  as  soon  as  they  become  sincerely 
interested  in  the  subject  of  religion,  into  metaphysical  phi- 
losophers, speculating  and  experimenting  upon  their  own 
hearts.  Their  object  seems  to  be,  not  to  become  holy,  but 
to  understand  metaphysics.  Do  not  let  this  be  the  case  with 
you  ; — cultivate  piety. 

Do  not  waste  any  time  in  attempting  to  determine  at  what 
precise  time  you  become  a  Christian,  nor  distress  yourself 
because  you  can  not  determine  it ;  nor  perplex  your  mind 
and  impede  your  religious  progress,  because  you  can  not  posi- 
tively ascertain  whether  you  are  really  a  Christian  or  not. 
If  the  service  of  God  looks  alluring  to  you,  press  forward  into 
it,  without  stopping  to  consider  the  difficulties  of  determining 
how  you  came  where  you  are. 

There  is  perhaps  no  more  common  source  of  perplexity  and 
discouragement  to  the  young  Christian  than  this.  He  thinks 
that  he  must  be  able  to  tell  precisely  when  he  began  to  serve 
God,  or  else  he  can  have  no  evidence  that  he  really  has  begun 
to  serve  him  at  all.  But  that  time  can  not  generally  be  deter- 
mined. In  a  very  large  number  of  the  cases  where  it  is  sup- 
posed to  be  determined,  the  period  which  is  fixed  is  probably 


374 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


of  the  seed. 


The  first  great  duty. 


^**^fek 


THE  PLANTING. 


fixed  by  mistake.  De- 
posit a  little  seed  in  a 
place  of  warmth,  and 
moisture,  and  watch  it 
as  narrowly  as  you 
please,  and  see  if  you 
can  tell  when  it  begins 
to  vegetate  ?  Equally 
impossible  is  it,  in  most 
cases,  to  determine  the 
precise  period  when 
the  first  holy  desires 
sprung  up  in  the  hu- 
man heart :  and  it  is 
useless,  as  well  as  im- 
possible. The  only 
question  of  importance  is,  whether  the  seed  is  growing, — no 
matter  when,  or  how  it  began  to  grow. 

Or  rather,  I  should  perhaps  say,  the  only  question  is,  by 
what  cultivation  we  can  make  the  seed  grow  most  rapidly  : 
for  important  as  it  is,  that  every  Christian  should  know  what 
are  his  condition  and  his  prospects  in  reference  to  God  and 
eternity,  there  is  undoubtedly  such  a  fault,  and  it  is  a  very 
common  one,  as  pursuing  this  inquiry  with  too  great  earnest- 
ness and  anxiety.  Many  a  mind  wears  and  wastes  itself 
away,  and  exhausts  its  moral  energy  in  fruitless  endeavors 
to  determine  its  own  spiritual  state,  when  peace  and  happi- 
ness M'ould  soon  come,  if  it  would  only  press  on  in  the  work 
of  duty. 

Still,  however,  the  Christian's  first  work  is  undoubtedly 
with  his  own  heart, — ^to  examine  its  tendencies,  to  study  its 
deceitful  ways,  to  correct  its  waywardness,  and  to  bring  it 
more  and  more  completely  under  the  habitual  dominion  of 
the  principles  of  piety.     When  a  religious  life  is  first  com- 


THE    CONCLUSION.  375 


Excellences  of  outward  life.  Regulation  of  the  conduct. 

menced,  the  interest  of  novelty,  and  the  various  excitements 
of  the  new  moral  position  which  the  soul  assumes,  withdraw 
it,  as  it  were,  from  the  influence  of  ordinary  temptations,  and 
sin  falls  asleep.  The  inexperienced  and  deluded  disciple 
imagines  that  he  has  obtained  a  decisive  and  final  victory  ; 
but  returning  temptation  will  bring  it  out  again  with  all  its 
original  power ;  and  this  power  will  be  exercised  with  re- 
doubled effect,  on  account  of  the  unguarded  position  of  the 
soul  which  it  assails.  Look  within,  then  ;  keep  up  a  constant 
watch  and  warfare  there,  and  while  you  do  not  neglect  your 
duties  to  those  around  you,  remember  that  your  first  and 
greatest  duty  is  to  secure  the  salvation  and  the  spiritual  pro- 
gress of  your  own  soul. 

4.  Cultivate  as  highly  as  possible  what  may  be  called  the 
external  excellences  of  character.  Be  courageous,  noble, 
generous,  benevolent,  just ;  and  let  all  around  you  see  that  it 
is  the  tendency  of  Christianity  to  carry  forward  human  nature 
in  every  respect, — ^to  advance  it  to  all  the  excellences  of 
which  it  is  susceptible.  On  this  principle,  cultivate  such 
habits  of  thought  and  feeling  as  shall  lead  you  to  shrink  in- 
stinctively from  every  mean  or  unworthy  act.  Be  frank  and 
open  and  honorable  in  all  that  you  do.  Give  no  man  any 
opportunity  to  complain  of  you  for  the  spirit  which  manifests 
itself  in  your  dealings  with  him.  Avoid  the  reputation  of 
being  miserly,  or  ill-humored,  or  proud  ; — and  the  best  way 
to  avoid  the  reputation  of  these  things,  is  to  avoid  the  reality. 
Rise  to  the  possession  of  a  nobler  spirit  than  that  which  reigns 
in  the  selfish  hearts  with  which  the  world  is  filled  ; — ^you  do, 
in  reality,  if  you  are  a  Christian,  stand  on  loftier  ground,  and 
you  should  feel  this,  and  be  led  by  it  to  higher  and  more 
honorable  principles  of  conduct  than  others  exemplify. 

5.  In  your  feelings  toward  all  around  you,  be  indulgent 


376  THE    CORNER-STONE. 

The  feelings  toward  others.  Formation  of  opinions. 

and  liberal.  When  you  think  of  men  living  obstinately  in 
sin,  remember  how  long  you  were  yourself  in  the  same  con- 
dition, and  let  this  reflection  quell  the  rising  emotion  of  im- 
patience, and  suppress  the  censorious  tone.  Make  allowances 
for  the  circumstances  and  situation  of  those  who  are  doing 
wrong  ; — not  to  excuse  them,  for  no  temptation  is  an  excuse 
for  sin,  but  to  remind  yourself  that  under  a  similar  exposure 
you  might  very  probably  do  the  same ;  and  to  lead  you  to 
feel  commiseration  and  sorrow,  rather  than  to  exhibit  censo- 
rious and  denunciatory  zeal,  in  respect  to  the  faults  that  you 
witness. 

Liberality,  however,  in  respect  to  the  opinions  or  conduct 
of  others,  does  not  require  that  you  should  admit  or  believe 
every  body  to  be  right ;  it  only  regulates  the  feelings  with 
which  you  regard  what  you  know  to  be  wrong.  Many  per- 
sons seem  to  imagine  that  liberality  forbids  their  saying  or 
thinking  that  their  neighbor  is  in  error,  or  that  his  actions 
are  to  be  condemned.  But  can  any  Christian  grace  thus 
obliterate  all  moral  distinctions,  and  bring  confusion  and  de- 
rangement upon  the  lines  which  separate  truth  from  false- 
hood and  right  from  wrong  ?  No.  Let  your  opinions  on 
moral  subjects  be  distinct  and  clear.  Express  them  on  proper 
occasions  frankly  and  fearlessly  ;  but  remember  while  you  do 
this  that  you  yourself  have  spent  a  large  portion  of  your  life 
involved  in  the  common  guilt  of  the  human  family,  and  that 
you  have  been  preserved  from  its  extreme  enormities  only  by 
the  influence  of  restraining  circumstances  and  by  the  grace 
of  God.  "  Who  maketh  me  to  differ,"  should  be  your  first 
thought,  when  you  find  yourself  feeling  a  rising  irritation 
against  sin. 

Do  not  exaggerate  the  religrious  differences  between  your- 
self and  others,  or  overrate  their  importance.  Be  willing  to 
see  piety  wherever  you  can  find  it,  and  be  bound  to  all  who 
possess  it  by  a  common  sympathy.     If  they  differ  from  you 


THE    CONCLUSION.  377 


Independence.  Modesty.  Limits  to  human  knowledge. 

in  this  or  that  article  of  belief,  do  not  fix  your  eye  obstinately 
upon  that  difference,  and  dwell  upon  it,  and  dispute  about  it, 
till  you  effectually  sunder  the  bond  by  which  you  might  be 
united.  Look  for  piety.  Wherever  you  find  it,  welcome  it 
to  your  confidence  and  sympathy.  In  all  your  efforts  to  do 
good,  too,  aim  at  the  direct  promotion  of  piety,  not  at  the 
eradication  of  religious  error.  Your  attacks  upon  error  will 
only  strengthen  it  in  its  intrenchments  ;  but  piety,  wherever 
you  can  make  it  grow,  will  undermine  and  destroy  error 
more  surely  than  any  other  means  that  you  can  employ. 

6.  In  the  formation  of  your  own  opinions,  be  independent 
and  bold,  but  cherish  that  modesty  and  humility  which  wiU 
always  be  inspired  by  a  just  estimate  of  the  limits  of  human 
powers.  In  the  first  place,  be  independent ;  use  your  ovrai 
reason,  your  own  senses,  your  own  Bible.  Be  untrammeled ; 
throw  off*  the  chains  and  fetters  which  compel  so  many 
minds  to  believe  only  what  they  are  told  to  believe,  and  to 
walk  intellectually  and  morally  in  paths  marked  out  for 
them  by  human  teachers.  The  Bible  and  the  field  of  moral 
observation  are  open  before  all,  and  you  ought  to  go  into  this 
field  as  an  original  and  an  independent  observer.  In  the 
second  place,  be  modest.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  a  weak 
mind  to  be  dogmatical  and  positive.  Such  a  mind  makes  up 
in  dogged  determination  to  believe,  what  it  wants  in  evi- 
dence. Come  to  your  conclusions  cautiously  ;  and  take  care 
that  your  belief  covers  no  more  ground  than  your  proofs.  Do 
not  dispute  about  what  you  do  not  understand,  nor  push  your 
investigations  beyond  the  boundaries  of  human  knowledge. 
Men  are  often  sadly  perplexed  with  difficulties  which  arise 
from  the  simple  fact  that  they  have  got  beyond  their  depth. 
If  we  go  far  away  from  the  region  of  practical  duty,  our  light 
goes  out ; — we  are  puzzled  with  difficulties,  and  seeming  con- 
tradictions, which  we  can  not  reconcile.     We  are  like  a 


378 


THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Progress. 


Growing  in  piety. 


school-boy  with  a  map 
of  the  world  before 
him.  The  deUneations 
of  England  and  Amer- 
ica are  plain,  but  when 
he  goes  out  toward 
the  boundaries  of  the 
circles,  all  is  distorted 
by  the  effect  of  the 
projection,  and  his  puz- 
zled head  can  not  ex- 
actly understand  how 
Greenland  and  Nova 
Zembla  can  come  to- 
gether. Be  bold  and 
\  independent,  then,  in 
forming  your  opinions, 
within  the  region  which  is  fairly  before  you, — but  proceed 
with  a  cautious  and  modest  step  when  you  go  beyond  these 
bounds. 


THE   SCHOOL-BOY. 


7.  G~row,  in  piety.  Many  persons  consider  conversion  as 
the  completion  of  a  change,  which  leaves  nothing  to  be  done 
during  the  rest  of  life  but  to  rest  in  idle  expectation  of  the 
happiness  of  heaven.  But  conversion  is  not  a  change  com- 
pleted ; — it  is  a  change  begun.  It  is  the  first  favorable 
turn,  in  a  desperate  disease,  and  must  be  followed  by  the 
progress  of  convalescence,  or  health  will  never  come.  Make 
it  your  great  work  therefore  to  grow  thus  in  piety.  "Watch 
your  own  heart,  and  make  a  special  interest  in  studying  its 
mysteries,  and  detecting  its  deceits,  and  understanding  its 
sins.  Notice  its  changes  so  as  to  observe  the  indications  of 
progress,  or  the  symptoms  of  decline.  You  will  take  a  strong 
interest  in  this  work,  if  you  engage  in  it  in  earnest.     A  man 


THE    CONCLUSION.  379 


Pressing  forward.  Trust  in  the  Savior. 

who  has  a  large  estate,  takes  pleasure  in  planning  and  carry- 
ing forward  improvements  upon  it.  He  supplies  its  defi- 
ciencies, and  adds  in  various  ways  to  its  conveniences  for 
business,  or  its  means  of  enjoyment ;  and  he  takes  pleasure 
m  this,  not  merely  on  account  of  the  increased  value  hereby 
given  to  his  property,  but  because  it  is  a  source  of  direct 
gratification  to  watch  the  progress  of  improvement,  especially 
when  that  progress  is  the  effect  of  his  own  efforts,  and  is 
directed  by  his  own  skill.  Now  an  interest  similar  in  nature 
to  this  should  be  felt  by  every  Christian,  in  the  moral  and 
spiritual  advancement  of  his  own  soul.  You  must  not  be  con- 
tent to  be  stationary, — to  go  through,  day  after  day,  the  same 
round  of  religious  duty ;  merely  as  good  a  Christian  to-day 
as  you  were  yesterday,  and  looking  forward  to  no  improve- 
ment to-morrow.  No  ;  let  it  be  your  distinct  understanding 
that  when  you  abandon  your  life  of  ungodliness  and  sin,  and 
come  and  give  yourself  to  the  service  of  God,  your  work  is 
entered  upon,  not  concluded.  Expect  to  press  onward. 
Be  vigilant, — be  faithful, — and  look  forward  to  your  future 
Christian  course,  as  to  a  path  of  difficulty  and  trial.  Go  on 
in  it  perseveringly,  from  contest  to  contest,  and  from  victory 
to  victory. 

8.  Look  to  the  Savior  for  moral  protection.  Keep  as  near 
as  possible  to  him.  Do  not  trust  to  your  own  resolutions  or 
your  own  strength  for  the  means  of  resisting  temptation  and 
sin.  Just  so  far  as  you  do,  your  Christian  course  will  be  a 
series  of  feeble,  faltering  efforts,  alternating  with  continnual 
slips  and  falls.  The  power  which  rescued  you  at  first,  is  the 
only  one  that  can  keep  you  now,  and  as  you  go  on  therefore, 
through  the  years  of  trial  and  temptation  and  duty  which  are 
before  you,  rest  all  your  hopes  on  Him.  The  journey  will  be 
pleasant  and  safe,  though  difficult,  if  you  go  under  the  Sa- 
vior's protection,  and  keep  constantly  near  to  him.     It  will 


380  THE    CORNER-STONE. 


Jesufl  Christ  the  chief  Corner-stone. 


be  sad  an4  sorrowful  enough,  both  in  its  progress  and  in 
its  termination,  if  you  be  left  to  go  alone.  Your  hopes  of 
forgiveness  for  the  past  should  rest  on  Him, — so  should 
your  hopes  of  spiritual  protection  for  the  future.  In  a  word, 
the  edifice  of  salvation  must  rest  on  Him  as  on  its  Corner- 
stone. 


THE   END. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL   BE  ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE  TO    RETURN 
THIS    BOOK   ON    THE    DATE    DUE.    THE   PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY    AND    TO     $1.00    ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

^OV  -ijf^ 

K 

-uA'hf^ 

25)11130" 

Mi^'msm 

LD  21-100m-7,'39(40;is) 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


•I    ;..* 


